by Jay Allan
Chang Li sat on the opposite side of the table, staring skeptically at Samovich. Li was another senior member of the Secretariat, and Samovich’s primary rival for the Secretary-General’s chair. The rivalry – and seething hatred – between the two was well known, and the Secretariat was divided into three camps. Samovich had four solid supporters, as did Chang. The neutrals, the other three votes that would decide who became the next Secretary-General, would go to whomever could offer the highest price. Even in a thoroughly corrupt system, there were those who had mastered the art better than others, and Li and Samovich were two of the best.
Li was about to speak, but Esteban beat him to it. “What action would you propose to contain this problem, Secretary Samovich?” Esteban turned back from the window, his eyes focusing on the Russian’s like two lasers. “Because your efforts to date have not exactly inspired confidence.”
Samovich sat firm, unmoving under the Secretary-General’s withering gaze. “I propose we match like with like…that we confront Taylor’s Supersoldiers with our own.”
A murmur rippled across the massive table. The enhancement program had been suspended immediately after the army on Erastus rebelled. UNGov was accustomed to whipped supplicants, not dangerous and defiant rebels, and the Supersoldier program had taken most of the blame for the disaster on Erastus.
Esteban continued his stare. “Do you think that is wise?” His tone was sincere.
“Yes, Secretary-General, I do.” Samovich returned the hard gaze. “Taylor’s men have been far more dangerous and troublesome because they have had the modifications…” – he glanced around the table, settling his gaze on Li – “…but blaming the rebellion itself on the mods, as if stronger muscles and greater endurance drove these men to insurrection, is a foolish political game, beneath the dignity of this august body.” His eyes did not waver from Li. “One we no longer have the luxury to pursue. It is time for us to put aside petty political squabbles and take decisive action to end this costly and destruction revolution before it spreads further. And to do so, we must be able to match our adversary in every way.”
Li stared back, his face flushed with anger. Samovich had boxed him into a corner. He’d used the Supersoldier program against Samovich every way he could, but now he remained silent. It was played out, and he knew it. Things were getting serious…Taylor and his people were beginning to look unstoppable, and UNGov had to do more than just sit and hope one of the planetary armies pulled off a miraculous victory. If Li argued against Samovich’s proposal, he’d be expected to offer an alternative. Inaction was no longer a luxury they could afford, and simply reinforcing every colony world, waiting to see where Taylor’s people might emerge, was untenable. And Li didn’t have anything else. He struggled to remain calm on the outside as he nodded to Samovich.
“Very well, Secretary Samovich.” Esteban leaned back in his chair. “What do you specifically propose?”
Samovich let out a quiet breath. He’d won this round. If his plan worked, if he was able to stop Taylor’s Rebellion in its tracks, he’d be halfway to the Secretary-General’s Seat. If it failed…well, that would be a problem, not only for him, but for UNGov as well.
“Taylor has approximately 9,600-9,800 modified soldiers remaining per out latest estimates. He had almost exactly 10,000 when he left Erastus, and he has fought three planetary campaigns since. His losses have been disturbingly light, and mostly among his non-modified troops.” Samovich paused, thinking for a second how much speculation he cared to offer. “I would estimate, based on desertion reports and strength levels on the planets involved, that approximately 6,000 soldiers have deserted and rallied to him, adding to the 3,500-4,000 unmodified personnel he had on Erastus.” A wild guess, he realized, but he was sure his numbers were close. “Of those, perhaps 1,500 of the non-modified personnel have been killed or permanently incapacitated by wounds.”
There were scowls around the table, mostly on the faces of Li and his allies. “These numbers are wild supposition,” he interrupted. “There is no factual basis to back these estimates.”
Samovich was going to argue, but Esteban beat him to it. “Secretary Li, we are attempting to craft a viable response to the current crisis. I agree that Secretary Samovich’s numbers represent his best guesses, but I question if there is better data available to us.” He stared at Li. “Do you have a methodology to suggest that offers greater accuracy?”
Li sank back into his chair, a sullen look on his face. “No.” He sighed softly. “I do not.”
“Then I suggest we put political infighting aside and allow Secretary Samovich to continue.” He looked back at Samovich, motioning almost imperceptibly for him to go on.
Samovich looked at Li then back at Esteban. “Thank you, Secretary-General.” He shot another lightning-fast glance at Li before he continued. “I propose that we produce our own force of 20,000 enhanced soldiers and keep them ready to intervene when Taylor’s people hit a world we are able to quickly reinforce from Earth.” He ignored the stunned looks around the table. “It will be an expensive project, I realize, but a necessary one. I do not see another reliable way to defeat Taylor and his forces.”
“The cost will be astronomical.” The voice was a different one, deeper, with a heavy Spanish accent. Enrique Cruz was one of Li’s cronies, a man who hadn’t had a thought of his own in years. “On a program that has failed utterly?” He paused, glancing back at Li before he continued. “You do recall that Taylor’s soldiers on Erastus were the field test for the program. Look how that worked out.”
“Yes,” Samovich snapped back. “Look how that worked out. They have obliterated every force they have engaged, with a ratio of casualties inflicted to those sustained of 20-1. I submit that the program itself is a profound success and, further, that we stand little chance of defeating Taylor’s people within an acceptable time frame unless we can match their abilities.”
“I believe Secretary Samovich is correct.” Esteban’s voice was firm, confident. He had made a decision, and he wasn’t inviting further debate. “I do not believe it will be overly difficult to add a course of mental conditioning to the program to prevent a repeat of Taylor’s unfortunate treachery, do you Secretary Samovich?”
The Russian nodded gently. “No, sir.” A short pause. “Not at all. Indeed, I believe there are a number of options to ensure obedience among the modified troops.”
“That should address the concern over another Taylor incident.” Esteban panned his eyes across the table. “Indeed, perhaps we should introduce a program of conditioning to our normal training regimen.” UNGov had never bothered to indoctrinate or brainwash its draftees. They were all sent offworld, to planets they would never leave. They had no options but to fight. There was no retreat, no mustering out. Defeat meant death for them all.
That was before the Tegeri intervened and turned a UNGov planetary army into a dangerous rebel force. The game had become more complex, and there was no room for carelessness. “Yes,” he continued after a few seconds’ thought. “I believe we should institute an immediate program of mental conditioning for all inductees.” He looked down the table. “Does everyone agree?” It was a perfunctory question. No one was going to argue with the Secretary-General.
Samovich nodded and joined the chorus of “Yes, sirs.”
“Very well.” Esteban looked back at Samovich and returned the Russian’s nod. “You may begin preparations for the selection process. I presume you will need veterans for the program.” A small frown crossed his lips as Samovich nodded his assent. Pulling 20,000 men from the planetary field forces wasn’t going to be easy. Most of those armies were still fighting the Machines and the Tegeri. UNGov couldn’t just withdraw all the veterans from those formations, not without the fronts collapsing on a dozen worlds. “We must be careful where we draw down the required forces.” He stared over at Anan Keita. “Your thoughts, Secretary Keita?”
Keita had remained silent during the meeting. His portfolio was int
erplanetary military, and the present crisis fell directly within his purview. But he was also dead center for taking the blame for the debacle on Erastus. He’d survived and maintained his Seat only because Samovich decided it would be more costly politically to sack his newest ally. Keita was grateful to dodge a bullet, but he didn’t fool himself. His position was still tenuous at best, and he’d made sure to tread cautiously.
“My thoughts, Secretary-General?” Keita was caught by surprise. Samovich’s influence and power had saved him from an ignominious impeachment – or worse – but he wasn’t expecting to be consulted on anything of import.
“Yes, Secretary Keita,” Esteban said, his tone impatient. “What are your thoughts on finding the 20,000 subjects for the reboot of the Supersoldier program?”
Keita cleared his throat. “Well, sir…I suggest we withdraw 25% of the two to five year men from each disputed colony world to form the required cadre. Then…”
“Some of those campaigns are still in the early stages of pacification,” Li interrupted. He spoke calmly, but his body language showed his tension. If Samovich’s plan was successful in destroying Taylor and his people, he would be a hair’s breadth away from Esteban’s Seat. Li had no illusions about long surviving Samovich’s ascension to the Secretary-Generalship, no more than the detested Russian would if Li won their power struggle. “Indeed, a withdrawal of that many veterans would severely endanger many of the campaigns.”
“Which is why I was going to propose doubling the numbers of new recruits sent to each world.” Keita glanced at Samovich, noting a slight nod of approval from his mentor. “I would expect casualties to spike sharply, especially among the new troops, but I believe that is an acceptable price to pay.”
“It’s not simply casualties among the recruits. It is logistics, supply, transport.” Li’s voice was marginally louder than before, and his hands were pressed flat against the table. “More troops require more equipment. They will overburden the training facilities.” He stared at Keita. “Have you considered all of this, Secretary Keita?”
Keita took a deep breath. He’d been silent for a long time, but the nod from Samovich and the attention from the Secretary-General encouraged him. It would take bold action to rehabilitate his political position, and now was as good a time as any to begin. “I have considered all of that, Secretary Li. However, despite such concerns, we are faced with a problem that must be addressed. Whatever the cost, whatever the inconvenience of our solution…it is almost certainly less destructive than doing nothing and allowing these rebels to continue their rampage.” He stared right at Li, mustering all his courage to do it. “Wouldn’t you agree, Secretary Li?”
Li looked like he’d tasted something sour, but he just returned Keita’s gaze and said, “Yes.” A short pause. “Indeed you are correct, Secretary Keita. Doing nothing is not an option.” Li suppressed his anger. He knew when to fold a losing hand.
“Very well…” Esteban rose as he spoke. “…then Secretaries Samovich and Keita are authorized to develop a comprehensive plan for the implementation of Project Supersoldier to create a force of 20,000 modified soldiers to face Taylor and his rebels.” He glanced briefly at Keita then settled his gaze on Samovich. “They will report to this body for final approval once the plan is ready for implementation.” He moved his head to the side, looking around the table and settling his focus on Li. “Are we all in agreement?” It was a rhetorical question. No one had disagreed with Raul Esteban in decades, at least not openly.
“Then it is decided.” He turned back toward Samovich. “Anton, we are all depending on you. I trust this plan will be carefully designed and flawlessly implemented.” There was menace hiding in the pleasant, businesslike tone. Esteban was giving Samovich another chance, but he was signaling he wouldn’t tolerate a repeat of the previous failure. “I want Taylor and his forces completely exterminated.” He paused. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Secretary-General.” Samovich felt a vice clamp down on his guts, but he fought to remain calm. “I understand perfectly.”
Chapter 3
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
There is a man…a boy, really. I see him in my dreams. He is me, I know…a young man who no longer exists, except to haunt my sleep. He beckons to me, beseeches me to pull back from the course I have undertaken, to think as I once did, with kindness and mercy and laughter. He begs me to stay away from the abyss, to pull back from the edge, but I ignore him and plunge forth anyway. He is a foolish child, an innocent who knows nothing of the universe, nor the darkness that infests it. He has not stared into the eyes of true evil, and he knows nothing of the things I must do to destroy the serpent that has swallowed mankind. My actions, brutal though they may be, are not my choice, they are my sacred duty. I have allowed myself to become a monster so that I may have the strength to slay a creature far worse and much darker.
The boy comes every night, offering me the humanity I have lost. But I send him away each time, banishing him to the forgotten past where he belongs. For he is a shadow, gone forever, and humanity would be nothing but a burden to me now. Where I must go, he cannot come. He is weak, and I will need all the strength and resolution I can muster.
Taylor looked out over the blasted plain, watching his troops advancing into the withering fire. They were going down in clumps, five or ten at a time, but they kept pressing forward, barely hesitating as they climbed over the fallen bodies of their comrades.
The sky was deep red over the field, and the soldiers fought in an eerie, crimson twilight. There were large pits all across the plain, deep fissures billowing great plumes of sulfurous smoke, like huge shadowy towers rising into the darkening sky.
He watched his men moving across the hellish landscape, grimly advancing into the deadly fire. At least half of them were down already, but they pressed on, following his orders with all the strength and determination they could muster.
He saw Blackie leading a column toward the main enemy strongpoint. His force was melting away behind him, like an ice cube on a hot day, but they kept going, returning fire as they slogged toward the enemy. Taylor’s eyes were fixed, watching his closest friend lead the shattered remnants forward, ever forward. Until a shell landed right next to him, and he simply vanished.
“Blackie!” Taylor screamed, his hands balled into clenched fists.
He woke suddenly. He was covered in cold, clammy sweat, the light sheet on the cot almost soaked through. The dreams had been getting worse, and more frequent too. He hadn’t told anyone, but he was down to 2 or 3 hours of sleep a night. At best. He could feel the cumulative effects, the exhaustion building inside him, but it still took him hours to get to sleep at night and, when he did, the nightmares came.
He looked down at his palms, now covered with purplish mottles where his enhanced muscles had turned his fists into vices. He stared as the bruises began to fade as his equally-improved healing abilities kicked in. My God, he wondered, what the hell did they make me into?
He shivered. The cool air from the half-open tent flap felt frigid to him. He pulled the sweat-soaked sheet off the cot and tossed it on the floor, reaching out for the heavy blanket folded up on the table next to him. He shuddered again as he spread it out over the camp bed and pulled it up to his neck. Juno was a temperate planet, with cool breezy summers and mild winters. Its moderate temperatures and gentle breezes made it a virtual paradise, one of the most pleasant worlds men had ever found. But 14 years fighting in the burning hell of Erastus had left Taylor sensitive to the cold. It had been a year since he’d left the burning sands of the world his people called Gehenna, but he still hadn’t gotten used to it, at least not completely.
It had taken months just for his body to adapt to the absence of chronic dehydration. It was impossible to drink enough fluids on Gehenna, and the planet’s relentless, searing heat made you sweat out every drop of your ration. Acclimating to Erastus was an unpleasant process, but eventually the body adapted, even to
that hell planet’s seemingly unbearable conditions. All of Taylor’s veterans had been lean and taught, their skin paper-thin and tightly stretched across their muscular frames.
When they left Erastus for Vincennes, they found an environment they couldn’t have imagined, a cool, rainy planet with water everywhere. A soldier could just drop a few decon tablets and drink a lake dry – and a few of them tried. Their bodies, fully-acclimated to a moisture-deprived state, reacted harshly. Crippling headaches, vomiting, diarrhea. Practically the entire force was down for the first few days. Fortunately, Taylor, concerned at first with putting distance between his army and whatever forces UNGov might push through the Earth-Erastus portal, had chosen an uninhabited planet for the first transit. He’d wanted them to have some breathing space while they organized themselves and planned their campaign. Their crusade.
Taylor’s body had been no less shocked by the change of environment than anyone’s. He recovered from the worst of it in a few days, just like everyone else, but some of the effects lingered. His fully-hydrated body felt bloated and sluggish for months until he finally adapted. He felt normal now, accustomed to carrying an extra five kilos of water weight. But the cold still sliced through him like a knife.
He tossed and turned, trying without success to get back to sleep. He was tired, and he knew he needed the rest, but part of him was glad for the restlessness. There was a price to pay for sleep. The nightmares waited for him when he drifted off.
Finally, he gave up, rising with a grunt and wrapping the blanket around him. He walked over to the campaign desk in the corner of the tent, sitting in the small folding chair and poking the workstation’s screen to bring it out of sleep mode.
