by Travis Hill
They were too busy explaining how they weren’t losing the war so much as advancing very slowly on an enemy who was just as tenacious as us. They were so fond of pretending the Kai promise of extermination was only blustery showmanship that they began to believe it themselves. The Kai, an ancient empire spanning seven thousand light years, wouldn’t have grown as powerful as they had without some bluffing and baring of teeth when necessary, right?
Such an old species couldn’t exist in a galactic neighborhood with dozens of other races and only control seven thousand light years of territory if they were vicious, cruel exterminators, according to the mouthpieces from the government and the military. They’d either have been wiped out by the combined might of their neighbors who had grown tired of the Kai’s warmongering ways, or they would have taken control of the entire galaxy with their unstoppable military power.
I shook my head as I watched the visor fill with lines of code. Fucking human beings. From the moment our species figured out how to travel long distances in days instead of tens of thousands of years, our collective IQ dropped by fifty points. Scientists from even before we’d ever sent a man beyond the moon had warned that if there was sentient life outside of our solar system, it was to be considered too alien, too incomprehensible to use human prediction or classification models.
Other eggheads decided that just because an alien looked like us, or had some of the same features as us, they were somehow similar in personality or mentality to human beings. The war cured us of that line of reasoning, but we hadn’t learned the lesson until it was too late. Kind of like deciding you should have ejected from the cockpit before the ship was a hundred meters from the ground and still moving at Mach-10.
The suit’s computer completed the upgrade, but before my UI loaded, another message appeared in my visor. This one informed me that the latest Command Link module would be installed in my CR-31’s main and secondary computer systems. I’d been curious about the CL software, but that was a long time ago, in another life. I had no idea what possible use the features would be now, especially with three of us left and the entire area crawling with Kai.
My thoughts were interrupted by a double chirp from McAdams’ helmet, followed by another double chirp thirty seconds later. I heard the faint sound of someone getting out of bed. I flipped my visor up to see McAdams standing next to me. I handed her the helmet, then looked beyond her to see Jordan pulling on his microweave underclothes.
“What’s up?” Krista asked.
“They’re either everywhere out there, or they’re patrolling in very regular intervals.”
“At least we got a shower and a decent night’s sleep.”
I smiled, then flipped my visor down. The update had completed and was waiting for me to perform voice authorization.
“Private First Class Dana Lofgren, Terran Marine Forces,” I said when prompted.
A red X appeared in the visor with a warning message that I was either not authorized, or I was not who I said I was.
“Colonel Dana Lofgren, Terran Marine Forces,” I said, forgetting that I was now a full bird colonel.
A second red X flashed in my visor with another warning message.
“Vice-Chancellor Dana Lofgren, Terran Coalition Government,” I tried.
What the hell, why not? I thought, sure that the joke would finally no longer be funny.
“Accepted,” a voice said in my ears. “Would you like to proceed with a short training module?”
“Sure,” I said. When nothing happened, I tried again. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” the voice said.
My visor blacked out, then an interactive tutorial began on my HUD. I’d spent about five minutes with it when Jordan’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Goddammit. God fucking dammit. Piece of shit. You cunt!”
I pulled my helmet off, worried that he’d snapped and was raging at McAdams. He stood in front of his suit, helmet on, hands clenched into fists at his sides. I glanced to McAdams, but she was staring at Jordan.
“Fucking suit is dead,” Jordan said, finally noticing us. “D-E-A-D. Just like me. How the fuck am I going to survive five minutes outside of a suit if those fuckers show up?”
“They’re already here,” McAdams said. “There might only be ten and a mech out there, or a thousand and ten mechs that are outside of the Tac-Comp’s range, but they’re here.”
“Well isn’t that just fucking grand?” Jordan growled. “What the fuck am I going to do?”
“You’re going to pick up your rifle and stick with us,” I heard my mouth say. “Even if we have to carry you.”
“When the fuck did you become the Supreme Commander, Private?” he sneered.
“Since about three minutes ago when my suit flashed. But that has nothing to do with it. You’re going to grab your rifle, put on your boots, and walk or ride because you’re not going to die in this barn and you’re not going to die alone.”
“No sense in prolonging it any further,” McAdams said, her voice empty.
“Sure,” Jordan said, deciding to focus his anger elsewhere. “Right. Fucking Kai. Fucking Marines and their piece of shit hardware.”
I glanced at McAdams before putting my helmet on. I’d missed a few minutes’ worth of instruction, but it couldn’t have been that important. It seemed like the section I hadn’t paid attention to dealt with taking control of an interactive network at the division level and coordinating with the tactical techs below me to implement strategic decisions to individual units. With only two working suits left in the galaxy, I was pretty sure I didn’t need to take control of a network and order McAdams to do anything. She’d likely stick her rifle in my stomach and pull the trigger, and I’d deserve it. She was a natural leader, a good strategist, and as clear-headed as anyone I’d ever met, especially when chaos was erupting all around her.
The tutorial ended and asked if I wished to proceed with more advanced modules, or if I was ready to resume my normal HUD functions. I clicked off the the tutorials. The advanced modules might be interesting enough to keep my mind focused during a long walk, assuming the Kai didn’t harass us the entire way, but they weren’t useful. I needed to get my suit fully booted so we could get on with the rest of our lives. I grunted when the visor informed me that I had yet one more necessary procedure to go through before it would shut the fuck up and go away.
“The Terran Coalition, under the executive powers of Chancellor Michael Donald Lowell, has authorized the following message.”
I laughed and waited for the message to begin.
“I regret to inform you that—” pause “—Chancellor Michael Donald Lowell—” pause “—has been killed in action. Under the Coalition Charter, Article Sixteen, Amendment Four, Section Three, the position of Chancellor of the Terran Coalition shall fall to the next available ranking member of the Coalition government, including members of the Terran Military Forces, should civilian candidates be exhausted. This automated message carries the necessary authorizations and verification ciphers to declare that—” pause “—Vice-Chancellor Dana Howard Lofgren—” pause “—is granted the title of Chancellor of the Terran Coalition, along with the powers and responsibilities of the office. May you serve the Coalition well. This message will repeat in ten seconds.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, I howled, I guffawed, I split my sides, whatever. I’m sure McAdams and Jordan thought I’d finally jumped over the cliff. I had. It was like a big, stupid joke, and I’d finally heard the punchline.
Hey, did you hear about human beings from Sol?
No, what about them?
They were wiped out because they worried too much about titles and protocol instead of stomping the guts of their enemies into thin soup.
Someone always had to be the king. That was the lesson I’d taken from my whole experience as a soldier. As a citizen of the Coalition. As a human being. Down to the last man, as long as that man had a title.
“You’re scaring us,
” McAdams said.
I stopped laughing and looked up, flipping the visor up. I shook my head and giggled for a few seconds again.
“We’ve got some shit to deal with, if you don’t mind,” Jordan said.
He’d put on his combat boots, which had somehow survived the war and were in perfect condition, and was holding the oversized plasma rifle as if he planned to charge out the barn door and go down blasting.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m okay. I just got the joke, that’s all.”
The look they both gave me told me I was no longer living in the realm of sanity. I was okay with it. I flipped the visor down and closed the repeating message.
“What the fuck?” I asked as yet another message appeared.
I blinked. This one seemed more interesting already. I spoke my name to give the program voice confirmation. After verification, a string of codes, numbers, names, code names, and cipher keys began to scroll across my visor. I watched it for almost a minute, holding up my hand to forestall anything McAdams or Jordan might say. When the lines stopped scrolling, my visor went dark, then lit back up, this time with the United Coalition Strategic Forces logo. I had never heard of such an agency before, but that wasn’t really uncommon. With a border that had stretched almost two thousand light years and boasted two hundred planets, hundreds of orbital outposts, and countless other habitats, research stations, and mining operations, there had to be at least a thousand government entities that existed beyond my knowledge.
“Lofgren,” McAdams growled, her voice impatient.
“Hold the fuck up, dammit,” I snapped. “Sorry. Hold on. This is important.”
“It better be more important than an entire company of Kai sitting in our driveway.”
“Shit,” I said, unconsciously imitating Sergeant Lowell. “Just hold on. This is the last update, then we can go have tea with our friends.”
I spoke my name again for security confirmation, then again at a second prompt. The program accessed my suit’s computer, rifling through what looked like medical records, as if it were doing a DNA check to verify I wasn’t an enemy who could imitate the real Dana Lofgren’s voice. My visor flashed green twice, letting me know my credentials had been confirmed.
“My name is Core Admiral Elgin Tsute Byrd,” a man said as a video image displayed inside my helmet.
I frowned at the Core Admiral part, as I’d never heard of that rank. I squinted at the video image, noticing six birds on his lapel, one more than a Fleet Admiral. The only person higher than a Fleet Admiral was supposed to be the Chancellor.
“I am the commander of the United Coalition Strategic Forces. If you are viewing this message, you have been elected Chancellor or have assumed the position through means of succession. Please listen carefully to the following information and instructions:
“The UCSF was formed twenty years ago during the decline of the Hanura Empire. Coalition intelligence foresaw the defeat of both the Hanura and The Seven, expediting the need for a contingency plan should the war become unwinnable. The UCSF advocated for two emergency plans. The first consisted of seed ships and deep-space colonies far beyond both human and Kai boundaries. The second drew up the All-Stop directive.
“UCSF’s administration was overridden by Coalition agents and various top-level officers of the Terran Navy and Terran Marines, and the dispersal of humanity beyond our currently inhabited region of the Milky Way was nixed. All agencies signed on to the All-Stop directive, and spent the next decade implementing the various aspects of the directive in preparation for what has become the inevitable.
“As the Chancellor or other ranking officer, you are authorized to activate All-Stop at your discretion. It is imperative that you understand the risks involved. It is this administration’s collective reasoning that the risks will be nil should the moment arrive when you must initiate All-Stop and begin the countdown. Once the All-Stop countdown begins, there is no turning back. There are no override commands, authorizations, security keys, or software hacks to prevent All-Stop from reaching its conclusion.”
I had to remember to breathe. I felt cold inside. Some of it had to do with the assholes who had decided it wasn’t a good idea to send a segment of humanity out into the galaxy, to travel far beyond the human empire, the Kai empire, maybe to the other side of the galaxy. Most of it had to do with the fear of what the man in the video was going to tell me next. All-Stop sounded pretty goddamn serious.
I imagined a “Save The Day” type weapon, the magical, fictional bomb or gun or energy blade that turned the tables in an instant and suddenly made us invincible. Did it stop time? Reverse time? If it reversed time, I was going to go back to the week before humanity decided to ally with the Hanura and The Seven and kick the shit out of every person necessary, maybe even kill them so they couldn’t sign our death warrants. Maybe a wormhole generator that sucked everything in the quadrant into it? A black hole bomb would be a good choice too, I thought. Just pop one open and say goodbye to those pesky xenos!
Except STD’s, a lovely nickname we’d given such fantasies, were bullshit. If we had a weapon or unit or technology to save the day, we would have deployed it by now. Right? My brain began to crumble under the stupidity of such an idea, even though it was a perfectly true human stereotype to wait until the very last moment, after it was too late, to suddenly roll out the answer to all of our problems.
“The All-Stop command module is now active, and can be accessed within your local system’s UI or by voice activation. Please use your UI or voice to call up the command module now.”
“All-Stop,” I said aloud. McAdams and Jordan gave me puzzled looks. I held up my hand, a gesture they were no doubt growing to hate.
The UCSF logo flashed for a moment, then a command interface displayed in my visor. There were two countdown timers in the upper right corner, along with a rotating stream of random letters and numbers that floated across the center of my vision. One of the timers was a solid white 00:00:00:00:00 display. The other was an angry, flashing red 00:00:00:15:00.
“Very good,” the Core Admiral said in my ear. “The flashing timer will begin to count down upon All-Stop initiation. When the timer reaches zero, all All-Stop systems will have been activated. The white timer is your backup system. You may set a time-date code to begin the All-Stop initiation. Please be aware that once the timer is activated, it cannot be stopped. The numbers in the middle of your screen are the final authorization and lock-in code barriers. The system is automated, but will require a series of challenges to be met before authorization can be given. Once initiated, may the gods of the universe have mercy on all of us.”
I frowned again. My assessment of All-Stop being serious had been upgraded to frightening eventuality, and I still had no idea exactly what All-Stop was supposed to do. The thoughts of an STD weapon passed through my head again, but I squashed it quickly.
“Dana,” McAdams said with urgency in her voice. “We need to get suited up.”
“Okay,” I said. “In a second.”
“No, Dana. Now!”
“No!” I yelled back without flipping up my visor. “Get suited up and run off to your death or whatever it is you can’t wait to do, if you can’t fucking wait.”
“What the fuck is going on in that helmet?” Jordan asked. “You jackin’ it to porn while we’re out here shitting bricks because the entire fucking Kai army is waiting for us?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute, goddammit,” I growled. “Get suited up. Get shit ready. Get whatever done that needs to be done. I’ll be there whenever this thing is done telling me what to do.”
McAdams shook her head in disgust, and Jordan spit on the floor before turning away. It didn’t matter. I didn’t want to make them hate me, but whatever information the guy in my helmet gave me was far more important than a million Kai lined up outside the barn doors. The rest of the recording consisted of interactive instructions to activate All-Stop and keep it at a “ready” state to be initiated. Wh
at the hell, I thought for probably the hundredth time since the suit’s firmware had updated. Why not get whatever the All-Stop was ready to be turned on. Or detonated. Or mind-melded. According to the screen after the final authorization, further information could be found in the program’s Educational folder. I laughed again.
“Okay,” I said, flipping up my visor and rising to my feet. “Let’s do this.”
“Do what?” McAdams asked with irritation.
“Find out what the fuck these assholes want.”
“And then what?” Jordan asked, more interested than annoyed.
“I’ll let you know when I learn that part.”
Both of them gave me a long, hard look, probably one last check to see if I still had enough sanity to be trusted with a suit and a plasma rifle.
FIFTEEN
My body demanded that I not hook up to the suit’s waste system, but I overrode that decision. I told McAdams that she would probably want to do the same since we had no idea how long we might be in our suits. Dying because one of us had to stop and drop a deuce wasn’t exactly going out in a blaze of glory, though Lowell had probably figured that I’d be able to detonate my suit’s power pack remotely, unless I was stupid and left my helmet behind with my suit as I ran into the tall grass.
When I was fully suited and finally looked at my Tac-Comp overlay, I nearly gave up and ate a round from my own plasma rifle. The EM sensors were quite sure that four heavy mechs were within one hundred meters of us, with at least three more within the sensor’s passive range. Then there were the two Kai light cruisers patrolling the area. I didn’t want to think about how many soldiers, tanks, and Vipers were waiting for us. I was pretty sure they hadn’t stopped by to borrow a cup of sugar.
“Jesus,” Jordan said, stepping back from the small window at the front of the barn.
“How many?” McAdams asked.
“There’s definitely mechs out there. A ship too, heading north, low altitude.”
“Kai light assault cruiser,” I said. Jordan turned white enough that I noticed it in the dark. “I guess I’ll relay my plan, and unless one of you has a better one, we’ll see how it plays out.”
