by Jay Allan
Cutter had created the Mules, employing the science of the First Imperium to combine selected human DNA with reconstituted genetic material from the ancient race that had first colonized Earth Two. The alien technology was far beyond anything Earth science had mastered, and Cutter had employed it to maximize strengths…and virtually eliminate weaknesses. His creations, though he also hated using that word to describe them, represented a massive step forward for humanity, at least in his scientifically-based opinion.
Others had different points of view, and the term Mules had originated as a derogatory one, poking at the single genetic failing of his creations…their inability to reproduce naturally. He knew they had long since adopted its use themselves, at first a way to lash back, he supposed, to declare that their critics were unable to hurt them with their childish words. Now, it had been used for so long, he doubted anyone thought much of the name’s origin.
“Achilles, we’ve discussed this before. President Harmon is a good man, and he deserves our support. The Prohibition has…”
“Again, Father, with all due respect, the Prohibition has been in place for twenty-five years. Whatever the president’s motivations in maintaining it for so long, the end result is indisputable. He has chosen the NBs over us. He has indulged their baseless fears…and stolen our future in the process. He has made us less than them, and denied us the most basic of rights…to continue to exist as a people.”
Cutter held back a sigh. His loyalty to Harmon was rock solid, but he wasn’t sure what to say to Achilles. Especially since the Mule was right, at least about much of what he had said. Cutter knew Harmon hadn’t had a choice. The fear of the Mules had been running amok, even while they were still children. There had been attempted acts of violence against them, and Harmon had acted out of desperation, to protect the young prodigies as much as anything else. But he couldn’t fault Achilles and the others for feeling targeted…and for being angry.
The Mules had matured rapidly, reaching full adulthood by age eleven or twelve. But long before that, it had become apparent they were truly special. They excelled in every field of athletic endeavor, but it was their analytical capability that had surprised even Cutter. He’d tried to measure it, but IQ and other existing systems proved woefully inadequate. The Mules weren’t just smart. They were something else entirely…something different.
Cutter remained silent, the words simply not coming. He believed the Prohibition was unjust, the result of fear and jealousy and not a reaction to any real threat, at least not one that had existed at the time. He wondered, though, if it hadn’t created the very danger it had been intended to thwart. The Mules had become increasingly resentful in recent years, and the restriction against creating more of their kind only increased the angst they felt at not being able to reproduce naturally. There were only one hundred sixteen of them, but he shuddered to imagine what they could do it they were united. And angry.
“Achilles, President Harmon has no prejudices against you and your brethren. He is a fair man.” Cutter knew his words were empty. But he had nothing else.
“And yet, he has presided over a quarter century of restrictions against us. In a society given over to populating a world as rapidly as possible, we alone are barred from adding to our numbers.” Achilles stared at Cutter. “It is little short of controlled genocide.”
Cutter exhaled hard. “It is far short of that, Achilles…and never let me hear those words from you again. You are of this world, created here. This is what you know, where you grew to adulthood. I am from another place, one that is no stranger to such terrors as genocide. Have you seen piles of bodies, unburied bloated and baked under the hot sun? Have you smelled the stench of mass death, heard the screams of those being led off to death chambers? You are intelligent, far more than I am, yet you speak now like an ignorant fool.”
“Apologies, Father. Of course you are correct. Yet, is there not something of what I speak of in the effort to restrict our numbers? The other populations grow, and we shrink further into irrelevancy. We are too few to wield political power…and if we cannot protect ourselves through the ballot box, then what are we to do? What choices will be left to us?”
“We are not different populations, Achilles. We are one. We survived the journey to this planet as one. We defeated the Regent as one. And we shall remain one…whatever it takes.”
“Forgive me, Father, but you speak naively. I cannot believe that is your true judgment. One cannot ignore the actions of others, nor can one change such through his own actions. If we are all one, why have my brethren and I been singled out for such harsh restrictions? We have unlocked the knowledge of the First Imperium. We have provided the people of Earth Two with the technology to grow and prosper. Without us, the NBs and the Tanks would still be clawing at the ancient databases, as apes learning to dig with sharpened sticks.”
“Now it is you who is being naïve. Your words drip of arrogance, of your feelings of superiority over the other inhabitants of this planet. In such an attitude, do you not see the genesis of the fear they feel?”
“It is not arrogance to state the truth, Father. We are not freaks, not some scientific experiment gone awry. We are the future of mankind, its evolution. It is the Norms who should be barred from reproduction. They should be sterilized, and the Tanks’ crèches shut down, for they represent the past.”
Cutter just stared at his creation. He understood some of the motivations behind Achilles’ blunt speech. He had long counseled patience among the Mules, to wait, that the others would lose their fear. But the arrogance of the gifted beings worked against them, fanning the fear rather than lessening it. Not for the first time, he regretted indulging himself and naming his creations after mythological gods and heroes. It only served to support the narrative that they were different. And dangerous.
“Consider your words, Achilles, for in them is the explanation you seek. The others fear you because it is rational for them to do so. Because even as you help to unlock the knowledge of the ancients to everyone’s benefit, you look upon them as inferiors. Almost as animals. You are intelligent, and strong…yet for all your gifts, humility is not one of them. I love you all as my children, for in a sense you are just that. But you must be patient. There is enough disarray on Earth Two already.”
Achilles stood silently, and Cutter could see the Mule was averting his eyes. It wasn’t pronounced…it was nothing he’d even have noticed if he hadn’t known Achilles since he’d put the first cells together in the laboratory…but he could see it. The Mule was hiding something.
“Very well, Father. But I must insist that you put more pressure on President Harmon. The Prohibition must be repealed, and that must occur soon.” He paused. “We cannot tolerate these conditions much longer.” The threat implicit in the last line came through despite Achilles’ best efforts to hide it.
“I will speak with President Harmon, Achilles. You have my word.”
“Thank you, Father.” The Mule nodded, and then he turned and walked out of the room.
Cutter sat silently for a moment. He was troubled. The Mules were his greatest accomplishments, a true step forward for humanity. He had created them, but he knew they were smarter than him. All of them. He had been amazed at what he’d seen them do in the last fifteen years, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Earth Two would be like now if he’d been allowed to create a thousand of them, or ten thousand.
“Things are getting tense, aren’t they?”
Cutter turned, glancing up at the shadowy figure standing in the room’s rear doorway. “I didn’t know you were there. And we passed tense months ago. I’m really getting worried. The Mules have always listened to me, but things are coming to a head.” He paused. “And as much as their arrogance troubles me, they have legitimate grievances. And there is no questioning how much they have contributed to adapting First Imperium technology.”
The man in the doorway stepped forward into the light. He looked like Cutter, and then again,
in ways he didn’t. The eyes were the same, and the face, though the new arrival had more color than Cutter’s pasty white. “No, there is no argument there.” The man stepped forward and sat next to Cutter. “Still, I’ll never understand how they can be so intelligent and yet not realize their own arrogance feeds the fear and hatred they so resent.”
Cutter allowed a small smile to slip onto his lips. “They? Are you not one of them?”
The man returned the smile, though Cutter could see the pain behind it. “I am…and I am not. They feel alone, isolated by how few of them there are. Yet they don’t understand what it is like to be truly alone.”
Cutter’s smile faded, and he just nodded.
The man was the first of the Mules…or their predecessor, depending on point of view. Cutter had created the first of his engineered beings from his own DNA. He’d spliced in First Imperium genetic material, and he’d used his prototype equipment to cut and fuse the chromosomes, adding strengths and eliminating weaknesses. The resulting human-First Imperium hybrid had been a success, a new version of himself, far stronger and physically powerful than he was…and smarter too. He’d named his ‘child’ H2, something he’d later come to regret as too impersonal, just as he had the names from Greek mythology.
Cutter knew that H2 had a strained relationship with the other Mules. His gene fusing technique had improved before he’d created the next hundred sixteen specimens, and the results showed it. H2 was stronger and smarter than the Tanks and the NBs, but he was less capable than the others of his kind who followed. Cutter had been a loner most of his life, at least before the fleet was trapped and he was forced to cooperate closely with the crews, before he became an honorary Marine by risking his life to save several of their wounded. But he still remembered the loneliness…and he sympathized with H2’s plight.
“H2, we have to find out what is going on. If they are planning to do something dangerous, I have to know. We have to stop it. They are intelligent, but they never saw Earth, never lived there. I have seen what mankind is capable of doing to itself, the infighting, the savagery. The hatred. We cannot allow that to happen here. Whatever it takes.” He looked over at his quasi-clone. “You have to try to find out. I know they consider you an outsider, but in many ways you are just like them.”
H2 looked doubtful, but then he just nodded. “Very well. I will do my best.”
He got up and walked out of the room, following the path Achilles had taken.
Cutter watched him go. He hoped Achilles and the other Mules would show restraint, that H2 would be able to convince them to be patient. But he’d never mastered the human trait of self-delusion, of believing in things because it made one feel better to do so, because it took away the painful need to deal with reality.
He hoped things would work out…but he knew that was a longshot. He expected trouble…big trouble. And he didn’t know what to do about it.
Chapter Three
Captain Van Heflin, Log Entry, 10.14.30
We are in trouble. We’re being pursued by ten enemy vessels. The hostiles appear to be operating on antimatter power, and they are accelerating at 80g. Hurley is a fusion-powered ship, and even if the dampeners could handle 80g, our maximum output is 60g, 65 if I push it to the limit. And that means they’re going to catch us.
I have had the crew conducting battle drills, preparing for the engagement I know we can’t avoid. Hurley is manned entirely by personnel born on Earth Two, which means there isn’t a real combat veteran onboard. Every one of us was a child the last time a republic ship faced an enemy.
The drills are as much to keep the crew busy as anything else. The strange jamming drones have severely limited our scanning data on the approaching vessels, but they are all of similar mass to Hurley. I tried to tell myself they could be weaker, that their weapons systems were less advanced than ours, giving us a chance in a ten to one matchup. But the ships are accelerating at 80g, so that is extremely unlikely. And if they fuel their engines with antimatter, they like use the volatile substance in their warheads as well.
I have tried to draw inspiration—and courage—from the stories of the great captains who led their ships on the journey to Earth Two. It is one thing to imagine a hopeless fight, to think of the glory, the romanticism of the doomed warriors, to envision oneself alongside Leonidas and his Spartans so many centuries ago, facing certain death with stony resolve. But it is quite another to stare certain death in the face for real. I am Hurley’s captain, and I know my duty…to my ship, to its crew. I must stand firm for them, lead them into the fight I know is coming, let them draw what they need from me.
But I, too, am afraid. Scared to death. And I don’t know where I will find the strength to die well, as a captain of the Republic should.
E2S Hurley
G47 System
Earth Two Date 10.14.30
“They’re still gaining, Captain. At current relative thrust—and assuming their weapons are similar to ours—they should enter missile range in one hour, twelve minutes.”
“Very well…any luck with the jamming?”
“Negative, sir. We’ve still got at least six of the drones keeping up with us.” There was frustration in her voice, confusion. “Those things have a lot of power for devices not much larger than missiles.”
“They must be antimatter powered.” Heflin felt his stomach tighten as he thought about it. Humanity had uncovered the First Imperium’s secrets to using antimatter as a power source…but they didn’t have any way to produce the substance in significant quantities. The First Imperium had converted entire planets to anti-matter factories, using all available energy…geothermal, solar, tectonic. But even with the advances the Republic had made over the last thirty years, turning a world into a giant production facility was well beyond human abilities.
“It looks like we’re going to have a fight on our hands, people, so let’s be ready for it.”
Is ten to one a fight? Or an execution?
“I want all weapon crews to run a level one diagnostic on their systems. We’ve got an hour, and we’re going to use it well.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“And I want every member of the crew to take a Quad-2 stim dose ten minutes before the enemy enters range.” The amphetamines where a vast leap above the primitive drugs the lost fleet had used. They were vastly more powerful, for one thing, and they lasted longer. They sharpened the mind, and sped up the reflexes, all in a much more controlled manner. But, like all drugs of their kind, they became dangerous with repeat dosages. And if Hurley was going to have any chance at all, the coming battle had to be one of maneuver, not a brute force fight. And that could last for days.
“Yes, Captain.” Half a minute later: “All sections acknowledge, sir. Stim doses ten minute prior to entering range.”
Heflin leaned back in his chair. He was edgy. No, he was a damned sight worse than edgy. He was terrified.
He wondered about the captains of the fleet, tried to imagine how they felt going into the great battles they’d fought, struggling against overwhelming odds. The ships they’d commanded were vastly inferior to his own, and yet they did what they had done…and they’d survived to found a new civilization.
A third of them did, at least…
Heflin looked down at his screen, his eyes darting around, his mind working, noting the planets, the moons…the asteroid belt. He’d studied naval combat tactics, of course, but now he realized how different reality was from the classroom. This wasn’t academics where the worst result was a poor grade. It was real. Life and death.
“Lieutenant Ventnor, as soon as the enemy enters missile range, we will flush our exterior racks. I’m sending you a firing pattern.”
“Yes, Captain.” The tactical officer turned toward her display, scanning the data Heflin had sent her. “Captain…” She turned and looked across Hurley’s cramped bridge. “These firing solutions are…”
“Yes, Lieutenant…they are not optimal for targeting the en
emy fleet.”
“Sir…” She was clearly uncomfortable challenging the captain. “…none of the missiles will be anywhere near the enemy.”
“If the enemy stays on his present course…” Heflin took a breath. He knew his plan was a risky one…but he also knew he had nothing to lose. “Plot a course change for Hurley. The instant the enemy launches, I want full thrust, heading 023.145.211.” His eyes dropped to the screen again, focusing on the asteroid belt between the system’s seventh and eighth planets. Hurley just might make it there before the enemy closed to energy weapons range. “And I mean full thrust. Advise the engineer I will be wanting one hundred fifteen percent from the reactor.
Ventnor hesitated. “Yes, sir.” She paused again before turning to her station and relaying the order.
Heflin watched, some sort of black amusement dancing in his thoughts. He understood Ventnor’s reaction. Captains often asked for the best their engineers could deliver…one hundred five percent of capacity on a reactor, even one hundred ten. One fifteen was unheard of, insane.
But what the hell difference does it make if we blow up the reactor or get torn apart by ten enemy ships?
* * *
Fin Danith pulled himself through the long access tube, swearing under his breath each time he bumped into one of the conduits protruding from the walls. Danith was Hurley’s chief engineer, and right now he was all that stood between the ship and a cataclysmic nuclear explosion. He’d already cut off the safeties…if he hadn’t, Hurley’s reactor would have scragged an hour before, as the AI intervened to prevent a catastrophic containment failure. Turning off the emergency circuits on a multi-gigawatt fusion reactor was something only a lunatic would do. Or the engineer of a vessel being pursued by eight enemy ships. Eight faster enemy ships.
Fin knew it was a miracle they were being chased by only eight enemies and not ten. Captain Heflin had the same amount of experience in actual naval combat as everyone else onboard…zero. But Hurley’s commanding officer had displayed a stunning amount of natural ability. He’d launched the ship’s missiles on a course that seemed to make no sense…one far wide of the approaching fleet. But then he’d changed the ship’s course and made a run for the nearby asteroid belt. And when Hurley’s course shifted, the genius of his targeting became clear. The ship’s missiles were aimed along the enemy’s nearest intercept course. In one bold maneuver, Heflin had moved his ship away from the incoming enemy missiles…and suckered the pursuing vessels into his own carefully-prepared killing zone.
