by Cain Hopwood
Jon dropped his head low and let one eye steal a quick glance around the tree. No-one in sight. Then he took a longer look around the other side, trying to see if the snow around the interloper’s craft was undisturbed. It was.
So, you’re staying in the nice warm cockpit are you, he thought to himself. Well, you can keep on doing that until I can confirm who you are. He backed slowly away, keeping the tree between him and the military volantor, when a branch cracked to his right.
He spun just in time to see a white and gray camouflaged shape drop cougar-like into the snow. His H&K leapt from his jacket’s outside holster and zeroed on the figure.
“You can make yourself a hard man to find, lieutenant.”
The voice was familiar, it was the regimental XO. Jon smiled and lowered the H&K. “That’s sometimes my job, sir. May I ask what you were doing up in that tree?”
“Well, I saw you coming down that face on my way in. It looked like fun. So I figured I’d have a little fun of my own, set me up a little ambush, see if I still had it. See if you still had it.”
“You had the drop on me, but wasn’t that an unnecessary risk. I was only a heartbeat away from pulling the trigger.”
The XO straightened. “We train you boys to distinguish friend from foe in a microsecond. I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t trust my life to that training.”
“Fair point, sir.”
The XO pushed through the snow towards the cabin. “Come on, let’s get out of this cold. I hope you have a drink in there.”
“As long as you’re okay with rum.”
“Rum’s fine. I’ll have time for a quick one while you pack. I’ll brief you on the flight back to Trenton.”
“May I ask why the rush? I’m due back from leave tomorrow, regardless.”
The XO turned and regarded him with an incredulous expression. “Are you serious? You can’t even guess what this is about?”
Jon swallowed. “No sir, I’ve been off grid for the last week.”
“Jesus fucking christ, you’ve been off grid all right. Didn’t you notice that?” He pointed into the darkening, violet sky over the peak Jon had just descended.
Jon’s eyes followed the accusing finger. A dazzling star had just risen above the peak. At first he thought it was one of the orbital habitats. But then he realized that it wasn’t moving, so it wasn’t in orbit around earth, or at least not a low orbit. Either the solar system was the proud owner of another planet, or there was something huge in high orbit.
“What is it?” he asked absent-mindedly, not taking his eyes off the strange celestial object. But the XO didn’t answer him. He’d plowed on ahead and was already in the cabin.
Jon gave a couple of pushes with his stocks to catch up, clicked out of his skis and went inside. The cabin felt like a sauna compared to outside, and Jon peeled off his jacket. The XO had already sniffed out Jon’s rum, and was pouring himself a generous couple of fingers.
“Bedroom. Pack.” He said, just as Jon was about to open his mouth. He pointed to the cabin’s sleeping quarters.
Jon knew better than to argue. So he double timed it into the cabin’s tiny bedroom, then stuffed all his traveling gear into his duffel. It didn’t take long, he traveled light. A quick scan assured him nothing was left behind, at least nothing major, and he was back out the door.
The XO was finishing his drink. “This is a damn fine drop lieutenant. Expensive?”
“Not really, at least not if you buy it in Trinidad. I have a friend from there.”
The grizzled old soldier gave a wicked smile. “Is this the same ‘friend’ your wife objected to?”
“You heard about that?”
“I hear about everything, it’s my job. And given the work we do, you know you can’t expect to have a private life, at least not from the regiment.”
“Not at all. And yes, Annelise is the ‘friend’ my wife objected to.”
“Good for you. Your wife is a piece of work.” He looked into the empty glass and his voice took on a thoughtful tone. “Come to think of it, Annelise is a piece of work as well. Different kind. Better kind maybe.”
“No maybe about it, sir. Sarah would not have approved of this kind of trip. She wouldn’t have felt it a productive use of my time. But Annelise, she encourages it.”
The XO gave a snort. “So why disconnect your volantor’s satellite transceiver?”
Jon gave a guilty smile. “Force of habit.”
“The regimental secretary thought it was odd you gave very specific instructions as to exactly where you’d be. Well, right up until he tried to call you a couple of days ago. Then it made sense.” The XO tossed back the last of his rum. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jon’s superior took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned. “On second thought, bring that bottle. Also, a glass for yourself. I’m going to have to bring you up to speed on the flight back, and talking is thirsty work.”
Jon grabbed a second glass and followed his superior out the door. While the XO’s transport’s fans were spinning up, he stowed his skis in Vee’s trunk, reconnected her antenna cable, and instructed her to return to his apartment.
He shouldered his duffel and pushed through the snow to the transport’s open hatch. Just before he pulled it closed he took one last look at the face he’d descended that afternoon. The setting sun was casting its final rays on the craggy outcrop, and Jon could just make out the signature his skis had carved out of the untouched snow. The single set of tracks started at the peak, descended the face, and disappeared into the tree line. They were nice turns, flowing and smooth. Then his eyes were drawn to the unusually bright star above the peak, and he wondered briefly what it could be.
What could make the XO spend a couple of hours out of his day, and come all the way over to BC to collect one of the regiment’s lieutenants in person? The only reason that sprang to mind was that everyone else was just too busy to send.
And if they were all too busy, that meant something bigger than usual was going down.
“Shut the hatch, you’re letting the cold in,” grumbled the XO.
— 2 —
General Admiral Katona paced back and forward in frustration. Every Ka-Li in the Spear’s crew could smell it. Even the Pakmai were treading lightly around him, they were picking up on their Ka-Li shipmate’s jangled nerves. He knew it was impacting the crew’s efficiency, so he’d sequestered himself in the heavy cruiser’s ready room while he waited.
He slipped a claw into the viewport controls, dialed it to transparent, and contemplated the planet below. It looked to be a horrid place. There was no environmental consistency or control, it was off-axis, and low on mass. Either it had never been planet-formed by the precursors, or something had gone wrong since. The temperature varied from blistering in the subequatorial deserts, to numbingly cold at the poles. There was only one small continent that looked like it had anything approaching reasonable levels of humidity and temperature.
Despite all of these disadvantages, the inhabitants had made surprising progress since the last official survey of this system. They had a foothold in space, and simple orbital habitats. It was a shame they were in the Tauriel-Spavin buffer, otherwise they would have been ripe for annexation.
Katona didn’t completely understand what Shaiken hoped to achieve with them. From the briefing the centarch had given him prior to being sent here, Katona understood them to be a vicious and barbaric race. A people in almost constant conflict.
Humans they called themselves. Stupid name.
And then, despite what he’d been led to expect, he had spent all of last watch being led around in their primitive orbital habitat, talking to administrators, managers, diplomats, and some useless individual who called himself a ‘veepee’. None of whom were worth more than a handful of parsas of his time.
He’d come here with a specific goal, and little time to accomplish it. He couldn’t waste time in conferences, meetings and the lik
e. So after treading softly for half a watch, he’d decided that the stick was the better approach. He told his translator what he needed, told it not to come back until it had secured an agreement to send him someone who could talk specifics. Then he ordered a demonstration and left.
He was surprised when the translator returned to Spear only a few demis later; he had fully expected never to see it again.
But that was last watch. First thing this watch, the translator notified him that a transport had boosted from the surface during the night, and that he should expect visitors shortly.
He turned away from the viewport, but left it transparent. Maybe seeing a wall open to space would unnerve these visitors. Then he switched the environmental controls to gal-standard seven, which was perfect for Ka-Li. As heat flooded the room, his metabolism quickened in response, and his mood lightened considerably. Few galactic castes could endure a gal-standard seven environment for long. And, while he had no idea how these humans would handle it, if heat helped them get to the point, then after the previous waste of his time they could suffer for a change.
A chime indicated someone was at the door, so he released the door field. It was one of the Pakmai navigators. As the Pakmai stepped into the room, he hit the wall of heat and stumbled before his harness compensated surrounding him with a shimmering clima-field.
“Admiral, Spear’s captain wishes to inform you that the human transport has been brought aboard. It has one occupant.”
“Good. Is the occupant on their way?”
“Yes sir. The captain sent the translator and a detachment of marines to bring him to you.”
“Him? Did the translator indicate what purpose this individual has?”
The Pakmai stood stock still. “It did not.”
“Very well. Send a steward, we may need refreshments.”
“Yes sir.” The Pakmai saluted hastily, turned and knuckle-walked off using its lower set of arms to speed its exit.
He looked around the ready room. It was large as befitted a heavy cruiser like Spear. For a moment he considered taking the elevated chair at the head of the conference table, it did impart significant authority. He even took a couple of steps toward it, then changed his mind. He was too old and jaded for that kind of posturing. If the humans had found a useful individual, a military individual, he would achieve more in a collaborative environment than a confrontational one. And if they weren’t military, this would be a short discussion.
He gave the large chair a last derisive look and took a seat at one side of the long conference table. Then he unclipped his flechette pistol and slid it down the table. He relaxed, basking in the warm dry heat as the conference room, and everything in it, came up to a temperature that made him feel at home.
But his time of pleasant solitude was brief. The steward came at a run, snapping to attention as he skidded around the corner. Right on his heels were the marines, the translator, and the visitor.
The human was pale, similar to those Katona met yesterday, though this one had more fur on his head than the others. It made him look like a Pakmai with mange. His garb was different as well, mottled and utilitarian. He also wore a belt with several tools attached, and presumably weapons. It was not unlike Katona’s own harness.
“Be seated,” Katona said, gesturing toward the other side of the table. Before he’d even finished speaking the translator began speaking in the low rumbly human tongue.
The human obliged. He turned to the translator and spoke to it.
After a moment’s delay the translator spoke. “Please tell your superior…”
“Stop.” Katona held up a hand to get the human’s attention. “Do not speak to the translator, it is a mere functionary. Speak directly to me. It will translate in the background as we speak. There will be a small delay, but we will manage.”
The human twitched its facial fur. “Sure,” he said looking at Katona. “My name is Colonel Daniel Whitfield, NAU Special Operations.”
“And mine is General Admiral Katona.”
“General Admiral? That is an odd rank.”
“The rank is accurate, if unwieldy. Others usually refer to me as admiral if that is easier. I notice that you are alone.”
“I am, given your request, and the implied threat, command felt I could best answer your questions.”
Katona’s eyes opened wide with pleasure. This human seemed to be an individual after his own heart, not like that mob of pointless panderers he dealt with before.
“Good. Now before we begin, the translator is giving you the rank of colonel, correct?”
“Yes.”
“As these translators are new to your language, I would like to clarify what size force a colonel commands.”
“I command eight hundred and twelve men, comprising a mixture of mechanized, airborne and special operations fire teams.”
“Special Operations?”
The human leaned back in the chair. “Special Operations are small squads with, as their name suggests, specialized training. They excel at tasks such as hostage extraction, assassination, or operations in challenging terrain.”
“And you have personally experienced combat?”
“It’s the only way to become a colonel.”
“Excellent, we will be able to have a discussion.” Katona flicked a claw, summoning the steward. “Bring me ettam and find something for the colonel.”
“I have something of my own, I’ll only need a glass.” The colonel reached for a receptacle at his hip and all four Ka-Li marines snapped their flechette rifles up. The colonel, wisely, froze.
Katona held out a claw. “My apologies colonel, the marines are on edge because you have not volunteered your sidearm.”
“It wasn’t requested of me, frankly I am surprised that I’ve got this far with it.”
“It is protocol amongst us to keep them out of reach, it helps avoid misunderstandings. Some castes are more volatile than others. But you cannot be expected to know our protocols,” Katona said. He gestured toward the end of the table where his own sidearm sat on the polished surface. “If you would place it down there out of reach, slowly, they will relax, and we can continue our discussion.”
“Well, I’m rather out gunned, anyway.” The colonel rose slowly, his every movement being tracked by the marines. He removed the sidearm with two of his soft, clawless fingers, and gently placed the weapon on the table. Then he pushed it with one finger down to the end and returned to his chair.
“They won’t touch it,” said Katona admiring the dark utilitarian looking weapon. It had a barrel with an impressive diameter. “May I enquire as to its capabilities?”
The human’s facial fur patches wiggled again. “Sure, it’s a forty-five caliber pistol called a HK45C. It fires lead bullets with a muzzle velocity of about three hundred and seventy meters per second. It was a gift from my grandfather, he was issued it nearly eighty years ago.”
“You have a military lineage, I approve. Now you were reaching for something other than your sidearm I presume.”
One corner of the human’s mobile mouth curved upwards, he unclipped a container from his harness, and placed it on the table. The steward bustled over with a flask of ettam for Katona, and an empty glass. Katona put the flask’s straw to his mouth and drew back a sip of the steaming, sweet ettam.
The colonel twisted off the top of his receptacle. He poured a clear liquid into the glass and took a sip. “Just water I’m afraid, for now at least. We will see how things progress. Shall we begin, I understand you have a question?”
“Yes. I need to gain an understanding of your capability for cold climate warfare.”
“Admiral, I’m no statesman, but while I’ve been told to help you in any way possible, I’ve also been instructed not to give you sensitive information.”
“Of course. It sounds as if your political masters are cut from the same ambiguous cloth as mine. Let me show you something.” Katona reached for a pile of flimsies and spread them out across
the tabletop. They were covered in images and diagrams that had been extracted from a high level military analysis of each major group of humans. Analysis from decades of monitoring had gone into the source material.
“I don’t expect you to understand the analysis text, but the images speak for themselves.” Katona pointed at one flimsy. “This graph shows the size of each of your standing armies, and this one shows the number and variety of your land and air fighting platforms.”
“Fighting platforms?”
Katona flicked though flimsies until he found an image of a land fighting platform.
The colonel’s head bobbed. “Right, underground cisterns.”
Katona stopped the flow of images. “Sorry?”
“Underground cisterns, that’s our term for them, not fighting platforms.”
Katona’s eyelids nictated momentarily as he tried to understand what the human was saying. “Translator, clarify the term ‘underground cistern’ in this context with the human.”
The translator spoke briefly with the colonel in the growling human tongue before it turned back to reply. “Admiral, there is much ambiguity in this particular human language. I chose the more common usage, not the usage specific to military applications. The word I should have used for a ground fighting platform is, apparently, ‘tank’”
Katona turned to face the colonel. “Please accept my apologies. This translator is only recently hatched, and its imprinting of your language is clearly not yet complete.”
“How old is it?”
“Only three months, ample time to imprint. Our Doyenne informed me that the assimilation of your language into the gestalt was still in progress.”
“It is doing well, none of our translators could learn a language that quickly.”
As it finished translating this last sentence, the translator started making high pitched squeaks, and bouncing around. Not only did it have an incomplete grasp of the human language, but it was ignorant of protocol. If it hadn’t been the most senior available with knowledge of the human language, he’d have sent it back to The Doyenne in shame.
