by Chris Hechtl
Even the habitats they were to sleep and live in were white and sterile she noted as they were escorted into them. “You'll find the facilities there,” the head nurse said. “Males will be in the other dorm,” she stated.
Mara looked around. She hadn't noted until that moment that the men had been segregated from their ranks. It had been done while she'd been distracted but so expertly handled. No one had protested. Not that they had any need to do so, she thought. They all trusted Doctor Milligram, she thought.
“Any questions?” Nurse Jane asked. “I have one. Why are you so calm?”
“Doctor Milligram promised us a reward if we were on our best behavior,” a girl said, squirming a bit as the matron leveled her intent gaze on her.
“Well, that's between him and Doctor Nutell now I suppose. I think you did a good job. Settle in. We'll check on you in a few hours at dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mara said softly. She indicated the group should settle onto the bunks. The girl bounced on hers. It moved like a wave. “A water bed?” Mara asked.
“Yes,” Nurse Jane said. “Spoiling you I suppose,” she said.
“Actually it's not a good idea,” Mara said just as one of the females sat down and leaned back. Her elbow spikes and fins dug into the cloth covering, penetrating it right to the rubber mattress. With a soft spoosh her mattress was pierced. Greenish water gushed out.
Jane saw the mess and sighed. “I'll get maintenance in here with a mop. Until then, none of you touch them. That goes for you,” she said pointing to the miscreant. And you,” she said, pointing to the girl. “We'll see about removing the fins and spikes later,” she muttered storming out.
“Did I hear them correctly? Cloning? Force growth?” Sydney asked anxiously.
“Now now, don't fret,” Mara said, wrapping her arms around the girl to comfort her. “It will all work out. Doctor Milligram said so,” she said.
“When do we get our medication? We haven't had it,” another woman said. Mara looked up as she finger-combed the fish girl's head fins to calm her.
“I'm not sure. Remember to remain on your best behavior. I'll ask when they get someone in to clean up that,” she said, indicating the punctured mattress.
“I didn't mean to,” the woman who'd breached it said in a little girl's voice.
“Not your fault,” Mara said. “I'll ask Doctor Milligram if he can set up tanks or tubs we can soak in like we had on Friar Tuck,” she said.
“That was good,” Sydney said. “I miss the water slide. Do you think they have one here?” she asked. “I never got to try the surfing,” she said in a petulant tone of voice.
“We'll ask,” Mara said soothingly. “For now, let's see if we can help clean this mess up,” she said, indicating the mattress. The others nodded and got to work stripping the mattress just as a pair of men in maintenance jumpers and some orderlies arrived.
:::{)(}:::
Now that his clearance level had been raised, Doctor Milligram explored the complex to get a better feel for what else was going on, the competition, the dead projects, and what he'd missed while being with Fourth Fleet.
He found bodies in cylinders. He hadn't known that the empire had picked up so many subjects over the centuries. They'd been carefully preserved though. His reading of some of the files indicated many had been captured alive but had committed suicide after being brutalized. Until his approach had come along, none had survived long enough to get to the homeworld.
The very few that might have had been fed into the games somewhere along the line, he thought acidly. Such a stupid waste of potential.
On the fourth day, he found out about the most recent project to get funding. Apparently female human clones had been found living among the population. The concept was as preposterous as it was astonishing, so he read on further rather than skipping ahead.
Apparently the empire scientists had recently been made aware of Meia clones in their midst after the emperor ordered wide-spread genetic screening. The objective of the screening was to weed out genetic flaws in the population—also any undesired traits and any chimeras and others in their midst.
He frowned thoughtfully and looked up as Doctor Nutell approached him. “Ah, reading the brief,” the doctor asked.
“If you call it that. The clones,” Doctor Milligram said, waving the tablet.
“Ah, that one. A true competitor to your own endeavor I should say,” Doctor Nutell said. “Perhaps we can merge the two programs?” he suggested.
“This is going too far. Why the excess? It will induce paranoia and fear into our people when we can least afford the diversion,” the doctor said crossly.
“It isn't up to you or I, Doctor. It is up to the court and the will of the emperor. We have to trust in his grand plan. It has been forged over years,” Doctor Nutell replied, making a slight show of tugging on one ear as a way of warning that others were listening.
Suddenly the doctor was reminded of his ancient Terran ancestor and his experiments. How one could be drawn down the dark road to do someone else's bidding … he closed his eyes in pain but then nodded. “Yes, we have no choice I suppose. But what about them?” He indicated his subjects on the video monitors around his office. “Was everything we did, all the lives and resources sacrificed for nothing?”
“They will be given special dispensation as long as they remain useful. Your job is to see that they do,” the doctor stated.
“Understood. And the clones you mentioned?”
“We still don't know the source. They have apparently been popping up everywhere.”
“Everywhere?”
“Sightings have been reported in Sigma, Rho, Pi, and the neighboring sectors. All of the subjects are a female pubescent around ten years of age. They all share a common story; they are found in an escape pod in stasis.”
“Changelings?” Doctor Milligram asked.
“No, that's what we thought as well, but the scans came up negative. To be honest it has us baffled.”
“So, why the interest?”
“We don't like loose ends obviously, nor does imperial intelligence for that matter. But the real reason is that each subject has an interest in piloting. A gift one would say.”
“Piloting?”
“Yes. We're going to compare the samples we have with your own subjects. It's a pity we only have two here. Now that we know what to look for, imperial intelligence has gone through the personnel records and identified four more. They have been ordered to be transferred here. Unfortunately, two are considered lost behind enemy lines,” he stated. The doctor placed an image of a woman up on the screen.
Doctor Milligram frowned. “That face is familiar,” he admitted. “But I can't honestly say where I remember seeing it.”
“It should be familiar; it is the same face that the CAG of the Lingchi wears,” Doctor Nutell said, putting up the woman's stats. “Unfortunately your Admiral von Berk left her behind in Nuevo Madrid,” he scolded.
Doctor Milligram spread his hands in supplication while he mentally cursed the lost opportunity. “Not my decision obviously. Lingchi was damaged as well. I do know she accounted for herself well in some of the battles. She took out several enemy fighters. I don't know if she made ace or not,” he said, adjusting his glasses as he peered at the record.
“Quite possibly she did. They all have a gift for piloting. We haven't seen many naturals like it. And we know now she's nothing of the sort.”
“So when they do report, are you going to incarcerate her? She has no signs of disloyalty, no sign of being a changeling, and she's good at her job,” Doctor Milligram observed. “It seems a waste of her talent, especially if she can pass on her skills to others,” he stated.
“Again, it is a decision out of our hands,” Doctor Nutell replied with a diffident shrug. “What I am hoping for is to get enough samples of her and the others to do a comparison, and like I said, compare it to your subjects. Also, do the same for their abilities, see which comes
up on top. Then we can decide if we are going down the correct path or not,” he stated.
“Well, I can assure you my people are top notch,” Doctor Milligram said, affronted. “They are after all, the real deal. Only a Ssilli is better. In our case though, I think they suit our needs better. Less life support and obviously easier to interact with and condition.”
“I know,” Doctor Nutell answered with a grimace. “We've had some samples of Ssilli over the centuries and even some carcasses. I've read reports that some have been found alive if you can believe it. Unfortunately, someone decided to use them and not return them to the homeworld for proper processing. And even if they did, the best I could do now is place them in stasis and study their abilities remotely or through vivisection. The emperor has put a moratorium on exploring their use for the empire unfortunately,” he explained.
Doctor Milligram was about to ask why when a pointed look make him close his mouth with a snap. He nodded slowly. “Well, then, we'll just have to make do with what I've brought in,” he said with a nod to the image of his subjects.
:::{)(}:::
News of recent events and battles hit the Imperial court hard. A ball had been arranged in advance to celebrate Prince Kevin's fourteenth birthday. The prince had been allowed special dispensation to be absent from his studies at the academy to attend the event. The emperor had intended to skip the event, but his wife had pointed out that was no longer possible. The public needed to see a rather public image of the court going on with business as usual, even taking the news in stride.
All the while court intrigue boiled below the surface. The families were still reacting in different ways to the news. They were also reacting to the loss of Fourth Fleet and the arrival of von Berk's “treasures.”
Since the gala was attended by many powerful and prominent people, the dowager and empress made it mandatory for the emperor to attend … to at least help with the small discussions that normally happened in the shadows of such events.
He watched out a vid screen simulation of a window, brushing the thin curtain aside to see courtiers beginning to arrive in their finery. The black and white limos and limo air cars came in a steady stream. The red carpet was out; everyone was dressed formally and on their best behavior it seemed.
So it behooved him to be on his own, he thought with a twist of his lips. Only this was a child's party, hardly something he should be in attendance to, he thought. Even if it was his own child’s, he thought in annoyance.
The emperor had tapped into the fashion of the court and monitored it, as did his wife and mother. He had been amused that the younger set were defining themselves by following the dress habits of his youngest daughter Khali, going with a more medieval tone. That was fine; it was at least consistent compared to the mixed tones in court. Some curried favor by dressing like him. Others dressed independently to show their independence. Many of those were from Gather Fleet families. They loved to dress as Caribbean pirates with the hat, sashes, and swashbuckling attitude.
He shook his head. They were all fools, he thought. Sure, he was amused when someone sucked up to him, but he wasn't foolish enough to let such surface actions blind him to the intent behind the garb. He knew the dangers of turning his back on anyone, especially now.
Security had better be on its toes he thought as he checked himself in the mirror and then adjusted his sword. His crimson uniform, purple sash, and gold trim was the right look he judged. He nodded to the royal guard and then walked out as they fell in around him.
:::{)(}:::
The following week, as his gift from his father, Prince Kevin eagerly toured Skull Squadron and then the Death Head's Brigade Garrison with his class. He'd seen their demonstration flights and marching during the emperor's day events, but the up close and personal look was absolutely stunning for an impressionable man of his youth.
It surprised and intrigued him that they had such a true love and indifference of death. Many had real skulls built into their helmets and face masks. The Death's Head brigade and others had similar traits, but many had switched over to holographic images or painted on or over the real skulls. His favorite was the blue-flamed soldiers. They had a righteous look to them that sent shivers of dread up his spine when he saw them in full kit. And their powered armor! He sucked in a breath. Absolutely spectacular. He wanted a set of his own. Perhaps next year he thought …
Up until that moment, he hadn't seen why his brother Mason had gone with the Marines. The gore, that sort of crap looked wicked in a game. Seeing the death up close though … he wasn't sure if it was his thing. Proving himself, yeah, he needed to do that. Definitely, he thought, eying the guy with a face mask showing his lips torn off. He shook his head.
“As you can see, we work out a lot,” their guide said as they walked past the gym. Men and a few women were in there on mats as well as in a boxing ring. They played rough. “We train full contact.”
“Do you see combat?” a girl asked.
“To get into any of the elite you've got to be able to hang. That means we only take veterans and only the best of the best,” their guide said as he looked over his shoulder. “The cream you could say,” he said.
The prince overheard some of the soldiers making crude jokes about their uniforms and especially the girls in them. He wanted to say something, but the tour moved on.
“We've got something of an exhibition here,” the guide said, indicating the ring. He had them line up around a small arena.
Seeing them fight hard hands on full contact was one thing, but seeing them test their skills and get injured while fighting Neos was quite another. Kevin was wide eyed like the rest of his class as one by one Neos were brought in to fight. Some even survived. It was a bit like the games he thought, but up close and personal. Definitely ringside seats, he thought, cheering the soldiers on.
It wasn't much of a fight; the Neochimp was a female, most likely a bonobo. She was more interested in getting away than fighting. When she charged the class, eyes wide and fur on end a soldier tased her, then her opponent jumped onto her back. He didn't muck around, just yanked her head back and snapped her neck before she could recover and use her simian strength.
The guide waved a hand. “This is a new innovation. Since the federation has been resurrected, the brass decided to train personnel against the real thing.”
“Sir? Where did we get them? The Neos I mean,” Averly Rico asked, pointing to a Neochimp being hauled out feet first.
“They came from all over,” the instructor stated. He had a blue, glowing tattoo of a skull on his chest. He kept his vest open so they could see hints of it from time to time. The guy was well built and heavily scared, which added a level of lethal brutality to his image. “The damn things breed like rabbits, especially the cats and dogs. But these here in particular came from the gladiator pits,” he said, indicating another worn and limping Neochimp being prodded to the ring. “We want the best for our training here. Part of that training is honing your killer instinct so you won't hesitate when you need it. No sense training against an inferior foe. It leads to complacency, which we need to avoid,” he explained. The class nodded. “We've had enough of that in the past. Too much of underestimating our opponents. That is going to change,” he vowed.
Again the class nodded.
“Yup, we're the best—the best in combat and the best dressed,” the guide said with a grin. “I don't know if you know this, but we do get the occasional deployment outside the star system,” the guide said, waving a hand. “I know there is a squad covering the royals with the Retribution Fleet. They will be their groundside guards if they ever touch planet,” he said.
Kevin frowned briefly as the guide's yellow eyes latched onto his briefly before they swept the room again. “We also deployed a unit to Konohagakure, Destria, and Hinata, among other places I'm probably not supposed to mention,” the sergeant stated.
The bout ended rather quickly with the Neochimp getting in a few licks but then g
oing down when his opponent pulled a knife and shoved it into his stomach.
“That hardly seems fair,” Someone murmured.
“Never give the enemy a chance. There isn't any such thing about fair in combat. Just who lives and who dies,” the guide barked as the soldier in the ring yanked the knife out, walked around the whimpering fetal body, then knelt on him to pin him down and then saw through his neck. When he was finished, he held the severed head up and dribbled the blood all over himself. He stuck his tongue out at the audience. The soldiers laughed and cheered. The head was tossed to them. They bounced it around like volleyball.
“We'll probably clean that up. Boil it and keep it for something,” the sergeant said as Kevin caught the head and then tossed it before it got blood on him. He felt someone touch his shoulder and grimaced. He looked up to see a bloody smear. Averly mouthed oops. Kevin scowled but didn't say anything.
“Come on. We can wash up in the locker room and then head over to the mess. You kids will be able to sit down with some real imperial heroes and talk with them before we've got to get you back to the academy,” the sergeant said.
That earned a muffled cheer from the kids.
:::{)(}:::
Lewis nodded to the praetor as the other man came into the room. Admiral Cartwright flopped down into a chair opposite the OPS officer. He waved off a servant's attempt to bring him a drink.
“In a moment, he said, waving the man aside. The waiter nodded and stepped out of the area to give them some privacy.
“Usually long days end with a long drink,” Lewis stated, indicating his own sour mash. “But you have something else on your mind?”
“I don't want it to go to my stomach, which it might considering the state it is in lately,” the praetor growled sourly.
