Old Guy and the Planet of Eternal Night (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 6)

by Timothy J. Gawne

  “But sir,” I said, “we are operating without any actionable intelligence. In that situation, standard procedure is to use only automated units.”

  The Under Secretary glared at me. “Are you refusing a direct order, captain?”

  “No sir,” I said. “Boots on the ground it will be. Sir.”

  I conferred again with my platoon leaders, and we hit on a new plan. Each force would have six soldiers, escorted by ten micro-scouts and six offensive drones. The automated perimeter defenses would have covering fire pre-programmed, including for any possible retreat. The undersecretary was skeptical. “Isn’t that a lot of your available firepower? Will you have enough of a reserve?”

  “Sir,” I said, “If I’m going to send live troops into combat without intelligence, I’m at least going to give them some support. And yes I know about the need to keep reserves, but our forces are so light we just can’t split them up too many ways.”

  Fortunately the Under Secretary accepted that. I called up the police chief, and had her recall all off-duty officers and put them on guard duty, half on the perimeter and half distributed throughout the colony.

  “Why are you contacting the regular police?” asked the Under Secretary. “They’re not under your command.”

  “No, sir,” I said. “But we’ve coordinated before. In case our kinetic action results in blowback from the enemy, we will need to synergize with the other uniformed elements to maintain rear-area cohesion and provide a secure staging area for any possible further counter-actions as may be required to maintain the initiative and destabilize opponent tactical momentum.” I was proud of that little piece of doubletalk, and also pleased that none of the other army personnel in the shed burst out laughing. Although Brendan did arch his right eyebrow: Villers must have been giving him lessons.

  We followed on the screens as all three platoons sent out their forces. Each group of six men was ringed by six offensive drones. The offensive drones were quadrotors with a main body the size of a large beachball. A simple but effective design, they each had a light cannon and a variety of miniature missiles and smart grenades. Away from the populated area of the main colony, and with the inbuilt IFF circuitry of the regular soldiers keeping the non-sentient drones from doing anything too stupid, they could really cut loose. With their electronic-fast reflexes they were each a match for ten human soldiers, easily. My troops had no business being out beyond the perimeter, but if I’m going to send them out, I’m going to give them some decent cover.

  The soldiers had night vision goggles, but these only work if there are least some photons around to amplify. We solved this by having one of the offensive drones in each unit hover two kilometers up and a kilometer out from the humans, and shine their single spotlight down. That’s not much light by the time it gets spread out on the ground, but it’s enough for the night vision goggles to work. So at least the troops will be able to see in their local vicinity, without themselves needing to shine a light and so make targets of themselves.

  The three squads had each progressed about ten kilometers out. No mysteriously vanishing scouts, no scissor-beasts, just nice quiet pools of near-starlight surrounded by peaceful inky black. Maybe we’ll get really lucky, and this will be pleasantly boring.

  Then one platoon reported in: they had identified some strange glowing lumps ahead of them. Shortly thereafter, the other two platoons reported similar findings. I had two of them stop, and ordered one to approach with caution. The relayed video feeds were grainy, but I got an impression of half-melted ovens: lumpy brick-shapes jutting out of the dirt, each with a kind of window in the front. The windows were mostly rectangular, but had rounded corners and were not completely even. They glowed red, with hints of something moving inside.

  These objects did not show up on either radar, or infrared. I had the platoons advance a little, and we got a better count: each of the three groups had exactly six lumps in front of them.

  “Mr. Under Secretary, sir,” I said, “I request we abort the mission. It’s a trap.”

  “A trap?” said the Under Secretary. “Why would you say that? We don’t know what these things are: probably just native plant life, a fungus or something.”

  “Sir,” I said, “we sent out three patrols, each with six soldiers. They each encounter a formation exactly in their line of advance, each with six elements. There is an old saying: I believe in coincidences, but I don’t trust them. We need to pull back.”

  The Undersecretary of Defense chuckled. “Oh don’t wet your briefs, Captain, it’s almost certainly nothing. Order your men to advance.”

  “As you wish sir, but in the interests of caution I’d like to just start with one.”

  The Under Secretary sighed. “Oh very well captain, as you will. Though how someone with such a non-can-do attitude expects to rise higher in the ranks, I don’t know.”

  I ignored the insult, and ordered Villers to advance his men, while the other two groups were to hold their ground. Villers tried to have an offensive drone make the first contact, but there was a lot of electromagnetic interference in the area and the drone had to pull back. These drones aren’t very well shielded. It could be a natural phenomenon, but I was definitely not liking this.

  The troops got closer. The video feeds from the soldiers began to show heavy static. I checked with our AI and the soldiers monitoring the AI spectrum, and also with the civilian IT people: there was no evidence of systematic jamming, just heavy EM noise. “Private Sanders,” said Villers, “what do you see?”

  The voice of Private Sanders was relayed to my console. It stuttered with interference but was still understandable. “Sir, I’m not sure. I’m approaching one of the structures. I’d say it’s three meters wide, and two meters tall and deep. It’s got a window, and there is something moving in there. There are lights inside, red and blue and, I think, violet. And I hear something. I’m moving closer.”

  As the private moved closer, the video got noisier, so our own view hardly improved. “I’m almost at it,” said Private Sanders. “And I can see… dear God, it’s so… I must…”

  Villers broke into the line. “Movshon, you’re next closest, what’s going on there?”

  Private Movshon came on. “Sir, Sanders is leaning over to the window, and it’s… it’s eating him! It’s got tentacles dragging him in, but he’s not struggling, he’s giggling and seems to be enjoying it! And there is another one over there…”

  “Movshon!” shouted Villers. “Kill the thing that’s got Sanders, kill it now! Movshon!”

  But Movshon didn’t answer. I contacted another of my men. “Private Killen, what is going on out there? Are you under fire?”

  “Sir,” said Killen, “I don’t know. Sanders and Movshon ran straight out to these things, and… and… they are letting them eat them. And … fuckit, now Poggio is running that way. Goddamit stop you asshole!”

  “It’s a psychic weapon,” said Villers. “We don’t have any defenses against this. Suggest we pull back, Captain.”

  “Agreed,” I said. I activated the general command circuit and spoke to all the soldiers in the company directly. “All advance squads, pull back now. Do not look at the lumpy structures, they are a hypnotic trap. Target the structures with the auto-mortars, I want them taken out. And the rest of you stay sharp, there might be other things incoming.”

  “Captain!” said the Under Secretary of Defense. “Belay that order! Your troops will hold their ground, and we will proceed with the mission as planned! And cancel the mortar strikes, right now.”

  “No sir, I am sorry, but I can’t do that,” I said. “We’re pulling back.”

  The Under Secretary motioned to the two secret service agents. “You will arrest Captain Trellen. I’m taking over directly, this is too important for amateurs. Now…”

  I have only hazy memories of what happened next. Unlike in the movies or bad science fiction, in a close-quarters action you don’t get to relive it in slow motion. I recall the age
nts starting to unholster their miniguns. One of the agents had his head explode. The quadrupedal drone stunned me in the chest – I think my body armor must have lessened the shock, but even so it hurt like hell and I was knocked flat on my back. The drone exploded into tinsel. The second secret service agent was missing an arm, he was firing his minigun with his other arm and stitched Corporal Dunleavy full of holes and then the ceiling of the hut. And then it got confusing.

  I was lying on my back, the world swirling around me. I heard the words “Captain Trellen, wake up please. Captain Trellen! Captain Trellen!”

  I was woozy… and then snapped out of it. My name! Someone is calling my name! I staggered to my feet, and checked my terminal. It looked like all the advance squads were making it back in decent order. We had only lost the three from my old platoon.

  Villers called me. “Well, captain my captain. It seems that the observer from the central administration in my platoon met with an unfortunate accident. My fellow second lieutenants in the other platoons tell me similar tales of woe. I take it that, perhaps, such misfortune has also visited the company HQ.”

  “Something like that,” I said. “But that can wait for later. Give me a status update.”

  “Status is that I lost three good men to no purpose,” said Villers, “although I know it was under your protest. And that we are now officially traitors. Or perhaps rebels; you know, like the rebels in the old Space Battleship Scharnhorst videos? Rebel sounds so much cooler than traitor.”

  “Well,” I said, “if it comes to that, I’ll take full responsibility. In the meantime, I can’t believe that this planet is done with us quite yet. Get the survivors back, and look to your defenses.”

  I sat up from my terminal, and saw Private Brendan looking at me. “Captain Trellen,” he said, “you know we’re all dead.”

  “Brendan,” I said, “I am the captain and we’re not dead until I say we are dead. Yet if I am not mistaken, it was you that started this all off. Not that I am complaining, but, why?”

  Brendan cracked a smile that was as crooked as the fault line of a tectonic plate. “Oh I wouldn’t know, sir, it all happened so fast. But killing these officious bastards would have cheered my dark little soul. Well, not that I actually recall killing anyone. But if I had, it would definitely have cheered me.”

  “Private Brendan,” I said, “you have been spending entirely too much time speaking with Second Lieutenant Villers.

  Brendan made a show of mock surprise. “Spending too much time with Villers? You mean it shows?”

  I turned back to my terminal. To my pleasure the lumpy hypnotic things had been destroyed by the auto-mortars, and the surviving members of the scout forces had made it back to the perimeter. I was starting to worry about the inevitable consequences of the rest of it. I don’t have access to tech info on the secret service, but they must have implanted biometrics, and body cameras, and whatnot. It can’t be long before the people in the central administration piece the evidence together. I’m doomed. The only question is how many of my men I can save.

  And then we were attacked by dinosaurs. Big dinosaurs with jaws like bulldozers and legs like oak trees. Running out of the darkness into the light of the perimeter zone.

  They were huge, and they were fast, and they were heavily armored. They rushed out of the darkness and were at the perimeter in moments. Our automated defenses pounded away at them, and crippled a couple, but most made it into the colony. It was bedlam.

  They were tearing through the light shacks, cutting people in half with their jaws, while our own soldiers fired at them, mostly ineffectually. Brendan grabbed his railgun and rushed outside. My own troops took manual control of the automated defenses and tried to target the dinosaur-things within the colony borders, but it was hard getting clean shots and the time-lag of remotely operating a weapon made that largely ineffective.

  Then the heavy weapons of the executive section opened up and slaughtered four hundred people.

  9. Oh, It’s You.

  “They have forgotten nothing, and they have learned nothing.” – Attributed to Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, 18th-19th century Earth, allegedly about the French Bourbon Kings, though likely borrowed from other sources.

  It is a peculiar horror of humans, to turn over a rock on a terrestrial world with a vibrant ecosystem, and see the squirming horrors that lurk beneath. I was, however, somewhat surprised when the same feeling occurred to my submind that was inhabiting an anthropoid body on the Planet of Eternal Night, exploring that massive volume of The Fortress with my new friend the self-aware armored suit Scout Captain Harlan.

  It had been a long time since my main hull had escaped in a heavy lift shuttle, the years turning into decades… Possibly the main me had been destroyed, or perhaps I had made it to safety, and even now my peers were assembling a mighty armada to rescue us. Or, more likely, they were biding their time waiting to see if something would happen. Regardless, there had been no communications from my fellow cybertanks, so we had to assume that we were on our own.

  Fortunately the planet had trended less hostile, and we hadn’t suffered a single casualty since the battle at the Lesser Redoubt. We debated whether the planet had finally accepted us, or was going to lull us into a false sense of safety and then strike, or was distracted with other matters. The discussion was pointless as we had no data, but it helped to pass the time.

  As well, the armored suits were engaging company, and The Fortress had much to keep me busy. There was a lot left over from when The Fortress had been fully populated – books, movies, artworks, enough to occupy a single submind for many human lifetimes. There was even a branch repository of the Librarians Temporal, with over one thousand sanctified and catalogued volumes. I learned that several of the suits were themselves secondary members of the Librarians Temporal, dating back to before the biological humans had all died. General Trellen had attained the rank of associate archivist, an impressive feat. Not many humans have the ability to even reach the level of novice.

  So I poured over old records, helped with the maintenance chores, engaged in intellectual debates, and kept myself occupied. But one of my greatest pleasures was exploring The Fortress with Scout Captain Harlan.

  We were walking down a long-abandoned freight tunnel, and there did not appear to be anything of interest in it, but that didn’t stop us from checking every minor alcove or piece of junk.

  Harlan, you are the captain of the entire Scout Company. Not that I mind the personal guided tours from a captain no less, but shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, commanding or captaining or something?

  “Oh, yes, the Scout Company,” said Harlan. “You see we scouts hardly ever need commanding as such, we’re pretty self-sufficient. Also, we never act as a single unit, as we’re always attached as individuals to the other companies. I do attend meetings with the other captains and sometimes I even give little speeches, to keep up morale and because they are expected. Then there are logistics and other duties to bother me. But I have the best command post on the planet, because you see, I mostly get to do whatever I want. Hey, I think that looks like an old battlefield up ahead!”

  The tunnel ended in a roughly spherical cavity 50 meters across. I’d seen a couple of other zones like this before, where fierce fighting had collapsed several floors and left a ragged hole in the substance of The Fortress with shattered pipes and dangling wires hanging down like stalactites.

  Any idea what happened here?

  “Don’t recall, offhand,” said Harlan. “I’m sure it’s in the records though. But let’s see if we can find out. The enemy must have been pretty hefty, to have justified all this wreckage.”

  We sifted through the debris, but it was just junk, without any clues as to what had occurred. We were about ready to give up and head back to the HQ when I spotted a dark smudge on the floor of the cavity that looked out of place. I walked over to it, and saw that it was in fact a hole going down to a deeper level. We had missed it b
ecause from a distance it had appeared to be only a shadow of some nearby concrete blocks.

  Harlan, do you know where this hole goes?

  Harlan came over besides me and shone a light into the hole. “It goes down. Sorry, old joke, couldn’t help myself. Let’s find out.”

  The scout captain grabbed the edge of the hole and swung himself down as agile as a squirrel. “Not much to look at, but it does seem to go on a ways. Join me and let’s check it out.”

  I clambered down – with a bit less grace than Harlan, but effectively enough. It was a round tunnel, smooth concrete walls, about one and a half meters in diameter so we both had to stoop. After walking about 20 meters, Harlan suddenly stopped.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m losing contact with The Fortress datanets. Maybe too much local damage to the repeater nodes, maybe this tunnel is shielded. I’m going to go back and log our entry before we go further. After all, the first rule of scouting is: no matter how wily and clever you are, if you find something important and you don’t report it back to base, it doesn’t count.”

  Harlan went back the way we came, logged where we were and what we were proposing to do with HQ, and then rejoined me.

  “Duty done!” said Harlan. “Now let’s see where this tunnel leads.”

  We made it another 30 meters, and the small round tunnel ended in a grating made of metal louvers. This must at one time have been an air duct. We found some fastening clips on one side, unhooked them, and pushed the grating open on squealing metal hinges.

  We were in a hall about two meters wide and two and a half meters tall. To our right the way was blocked with an old cave-in, to our left the hall continued on lit by a fitful few lights installed at intervals on the ceiling. We walked on, and after passing through a low arch labeled “Gate 35X”we found ourselves in a modest room whose purpose I could not at first determine.

  The floor was covered with a mottled brown carpet, heavily stained with footpaths worn into it. The walls were hung with safety warning posters. These were desiccated with age even though covered in glass frames. One had a cartoon of a group of people all pointing to a bomb hidden under a park bench, with the caption “Terrorism: it’s everybody’s business!” That one that brought back memories.