Hard Corps

by Paul Mannering

  HARD CORPS

  Paul Mannering

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright 2017 by Paul Mannering

  Chapter 1

  I

  Tracers of azure light streaked across the screen, each indicating a ship entering the spatial dimensions of the Kursk system. Primary Marsushin’s sensors reviewed the incoming data, the screen filling with lines of blue. The intel received by the Helos high command had been correct: the enemy had made their move, and the expected invasion had begun.

  “Transmit alert to Arculus and the Helos Command Battle Group,” Marsushin said. The computer system obeyed immediately, sending priority communications through the network and sharing the incoming data with a hundred similar screens in various ops bases across the landscape of the world.

  The data coming in from the satellite array in geo-stationary orbit above the planet began to break down as the first wave of incoming weapons fire set about blinding the ground forces. A moment later the comms channel came to life in the voice of the Arculus.

  “Primary, how many Diorite Commonwealth ships are in the invasion fleet?”

  Marushin considered for a moment. “It appears to be all of them, Arculus.”

  *

  Erik stared blankly at the graffiti scratched into the dark metal plate over the head of the soldier facing him. War Is Life.

  For Erik, war was the only life he knew. With the few remaining humans facing starvation on a dozen worlds, the only option was to sign up for service in a trooper unit and go where you were told and shoot whatever life form got in your way.

  The ship jolted him against the harness as they entered atmosphere. He didn’t know where they were, or what the reason for the invasion of this planet was, and none of that mattered. Getting paid and getting out alive—that was all that mattered. War is Life. Victory was life. Getting enough together to walk away at the end of whatever term his duty required. That was life.

  The recycled oxygen in the ship’s atmosphere tasted warm and stale. The Diorites didn’t give a shit. They breathed sulfur dioxide; oxygen was toxic to them. As long as the troopers arrived ready to fight, no thought was given to their comfort.

  The platoon leader, a scar-faced block of human granite called Quarry, unclipped his harness and started shouting down the length of the carrier. “All right, you shitheads. We are two minutes away from terra firma. Are you ready to fight?!”

  The troopers responded with a loud “HUP!”

  Quarry spat on the floor. “I can’t hear you, ya bunch of piss-stinking squats! I said, are you ready to fuck some shit up?!”

  The response was deafening. Erik felt the excitement building in his blood. The need to explode out of the ship sizzled in his veins. Combat drugs didn’t come close to the rush of adrenaline he felt in the moments before they were unleashed.

  “You are un-fucking-killable!” Quarry roared. “You are instruments of fury! You are vengeance! You are death!”

  Forty human soldiers stamped their feet and howled as they strained against their harnesses.

  The troop carrier swept across the landscape of the world coded Kursk Seven-A. In the holding area, an alarm sounded and the back door slid open. The harnesses released in sequence and as soon as the straps fell away, each soldier bolted for the exit, dived into the darkness, rolled to their feet, and started firing into the swarming mess of enemy forces.

  Erik felt his restraints retract and he was running for the exit, running for his life, just like he always had.

  II

  The route from the market to the dome wall would take Erik through Calzon’s territory. He still owed the squat boss for the meat ration he had scored for Mother last week. Calzon didn’t tolerate over-due debts. Being snatched by one of his boys would mean a humiliating beating and a day-night cycle in the cage where everyone could see his shame.

  Erik kept running, dodging past the shuffling merchants, the trash pickers, the drunken juicers with their brains half rotted on vok. The disc of bread bounced under his shirt as he ran. It wasn’t like he meant to steal it. If it hadn’t fallen off the table at Mek’s stall at the exact moment Erik was passing, he would never have snatched it up before it hit the mud.

  If Mek hadn’t yelled at him, calling him thief, he wouldn’t have run. He would have handed the loaf back, hoped that Mek would give him a stale crust as a reward for saving his wares. Instead, he was running for his life through the sprawling ghetto of The Mess.

  Get to Noshi, he reminded himself. Noshi would hide him and would appreciate the food he shared with her. Noshi lived alone in a box on the interior dome wall. Getting there meant going through Calzon’s territory and, as his train of thought reminded him as it looped around to the same grim conclusion, that would be really dangerous.

  No one looked up in The Mess; there was no point. The hexagonal panels at the top of the dome were stained with soot and dust that, even if you could see through them, would show an outside clouded by sulfurous haze. Humans couldn’t survive in the atmosphere of the world. The Diorites tolerated them, letting humans live under the dome in return for menial labor and a steady supply of volunteers for military service.

  Lower down, water farmers scraped the constant condensation from the panels into buckets for sale to anyone with the chits. Water gathering was dangerous work and a lot of the kids who joined the wiper crews fell to their deaths.

  Not for the first time in his young life, Erik wished he could fly; being able to soar above the shacks, tents, and mud, all the way to the wall would really solve his problems. He would love nothing more than to land on Noshi’s ladder and surprise her with the loaf, still warm from Mek’s oven.

  He kept running, splashing through the churned-up mud always underfoot. The souls living in the sealed environment generated a lot of moisture—they shit and pissed it, even breathed it out. It all ended up in the streets, becoming part of the stink and the misery of The Mess.

  Passing under the flickering billboard displaying the ever-present face of Governor K’zyn, Erik turned left to avoid a blockade of handcarts and the owners arguing over who had right of way. Erik didn’t know if K’zyn was real; he was a Diorite and they looked nothing like humans. Their bodies were larger than an adult human, slug like, with a dense mat of dexterous feelers covering their heads. Diorites moved by pushing the dense fluid of their interiors forward and then contracting the body left behind. The sensory tentacles on their heads worked like a hundred individual arms, and each could be extended a meter or more to independently manipulate machinery or weapons.

  Erik had never seen a Diorite up close. Only the bosses like Calzon could claim they had ever spoken with one directly. For everyone else, the law was handed down from the Diorites to the bosses and then to the filthy thousands sloshing around in the dripping condensation.

  “Stop that kid!”

  Erik’s hope that his pursuers had given up the chase were dashed by the shout. He ran faster, dodging around the slow-moving people wearing ragged clothes and hats woven from corn-husk.

  Changing course, he dashed up the creaking steps to the front door of a brothel. Pushing inside, he didn’t stop, sidestepping the hulking security guard who reached out to grab him and slipping through the swinging door to the back room. Two rows of flimsy curtains hid only the details of the activity going on in the cots.

  Like any kid born into the filth and squalor of The Mess, Erik had no illusions about the mechanics of sex. Actual experience was where knowledge ended and mystery began for Erik. He planned to kiss Noshi, just as soon as he worked up the courage.

  The back wall of the hut proved as flimsy as the front, and a hard kick knocked a hole big enough for Erik’s slight form to slip through.

  With a moment to bre
athe, Erik took his bearings. The curving wall of the dome was in sight. Getting to it should be easy. Keep moving. He started running again. No one took any notice of a kid running. Erik and the others his age worked as messengers, running everywhere all the time, all for the chance of a scrap of food or a place to rest.

  Reaching the first ladder, Erik scaled the rickety scaffolding that clung like rotting moss to the curving surface of the dome’s interior wall. He climbed past sleeping platforms, smoldering cooking fires, and stinking buckets of communal waste waiting to be collected for the farmers to fertilize the crop circles on the other side of the dome.

  He carefully stepped onto the narrow walkway that led to Noshi’s pad. She kept it flimsy on purpose—if anyone too big for her to handle tried to cross, they risked a long fall and a painful death in the mud and shit below.

  “Noshi?” Erik called. The box she lived in was older than either of them. Noshi had ended up here after her mother died giving birth to the baby that would have been Noshi’s younger brother or sister.

  Neither of them knew who their fathers were. No one ever did. Mothers claimed their offspring because they got extra ration credits for the first ten years of the child’s life.

  III

  Pizak moved outside and inhaled the fresh air through the slits in his neck. His eyes saw easily in the drifting yellow mist. The Diorites were native to this world, and over the last thousand years had imposed their will and technology on a dozen other planets.

  You will be late. Tosai, his breed-mate and co-genitor of their offspring, warned with a touch of her feelers down his dorsal line.

  Enjoy your day of rest, Tosai. Pizak flowed away from their apartment and joined the other commuters going to their duty shifts.

  Administrator Pizak, attend Governor K’zyn with priority.

  The presence of Narsk, the primary attendant of the governor, flowed strongly into Pizak’s consciousness.

  Pizak acknowledged the request of attendant Narsk. Moving into the line that would take him to the governor’s tower, Pizak reviewed the likely reasons for the summons.

  K’zyn would have received Pizak’s latest report on the human population. They continued to reproduce in frustratingly low numbers once the infant mortality rate was taken into account. They were savage, unpredictable, and remarkably adaptable. Pizak found the species fascinating, and that alone put him at odds with every other government official.

  Administrator Pizak, to see Governor K’zyn, he announced to the entrance wall. It shimmered in welcome and he glided through the gel, confirming his identity to the myriad security systems as he went.

  The lift platform arrived as Pizak approached. He gestured greetings to those he passed. They waved in response. Without a physical connection, it was simply a courtesy.

  Pizak’s mood remained somber as he ascended to the governor’s office.

  K’zyn occupied a space larger than the apartment Pizak currently shared with Tosai. The mottled pigments of K’zyn’s skin were faded, a sign of his advanced years. He answered to no one but the Diorite Congress, and he controlled what they were told.

  I acknowledge you, Governor K’zyn. Pizak expressed his greeting in a mental projection of swirling colors.

  Pizak, welcome. Juice?

  My gratitude, Pizak replied.

  K’zyn indicated that Pizak should help himself. He took a cup, curling a tentacle around it and staring into the green contents.

  I have read your recent report, the governor announced. The patterns of his communication swirled around Pizak. Your observations are insightful and detailed as usual.

  My gratitude. Pizak sipped his juice.

  It does highlight some areas of concern, K’zyn continued. The projection altered to shades indicating concern and the support of a mentor to a favored student.

  The enclosure sanitation? I have requested upgrades to the systems. But-

  Sanitation is not our concern, K’zyn interrupted.

  I await your wisdom, Pizak expressed formally.

  The military faculty require more humans for the training program. Your report indicates a continuing decline in physical state among them. If we cannot provide suitable candidates, the program will be terminated.

  I understand, Governor. I can recommend a range of solutions to this trend. All, however, will come at a cost.

  Indeed. K’zyn’s tentacles drooped in a way which showed his sorrow at this fact. Secure a contingent. Minimum of twelve specimens with physical attributes above seventy-five rating.

  Twelve…? A tremor rolled through Pizak’s feelers. Governor, the maturity of specimens takes time. We cannot guarantee twelve over seventy-five.

  It will reflect badly if they are not procured by shift’s end.

  Pizak felt the juice souring in his digestive tract. K’zyn would never be blamed for poor quality recruits into the military faculty’s training program. That narrow focus would fall on Administrator Pizak, keeper of the dome and its primitive occupants.

  By your grace, Pizak said, again addressing the governor formally. K’zyn indicated that the administrator was dismissed.

  Pizak left the office, gliding over the smooth floor to his own work area. Here, behind a wall of screens, he could observe the humans who lived in the atmosphere of nitrogen and toxic oxygen under the glass of the dome.

  IV

  “Noshi,” Erik called. A scrap of cloth that worked as a door flickered. Erik took that as a sign his friend was home. He finished the perilous crossing and tapped on the wall. “I’ve got some bread. A fresh disc, from Mek’s stall.”

  The cloth door jerked back, and Noshi stared at Erik with large, milky eyes. She had always been blind, but could find her way around the dome better than anyone who could see.

  “You’d better hide then,” she said.

  Erik slipped inside and the curtain fell back into place at his back.

  “I can smell it,” Noshi said. The ceiling of the room was too low for them to stand fully upright. Noshi sat cross-legged on the floor and patted the boards in front of her. Erik sat down, wriggling his shirt up to extract the disc of bread.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “What is wrong?” Noshi’s nostrils flared.

  “It’s broken,” Erik said, his hands filled with the crumbled remains of the dry loaf.

  Noshi leaned forward, long hair falling over her face. Erik reminded himself not to look down the loose neck of her ragged dress.

  “Give me some,” Noshi insisted.

  Erik filled her hands with the crumbs. He scooped up more of it from the stained folds of his pants and brushed himself down, salvaging enough for a second handful.

  Noshi lifted her hands to her face and inhaled. “It is fresh, but he has put less flour in it than usual.” She squeezed her hands into fists, compressing the powdery bread into a solid lump. She nibbled at it while Erik did the same with his portion.

  “You in good trouble this time?” Noshi asked.

  “Good enough,” Erik agreed.

  “Nice knowing you.”

  “They haven’t caught me yet,” Erik said through a mouthful of half-chewed bread.

  “They will find you. Everyone knows you hang up here.”

  “I’ll fight them.”

  “The slugs will come and drag you out of the dome and let you choke.”

  “I’ll fight them too.” Erik swallowed a lump of bread. Noshi always spoke honestly. It was one of the reasons he liked her so much.

  The girl tilted her head, a sure sign she was listening to something Erik couldn’t hear. “Calzon’s coming for you. Three of them coming up the scaff.”

  Erik swallowed his mouthful. Pressing the remaining bread into a lump, he handed it to the slight figure who remained cross-legged on the floor.

  “If you live long enough, can you fill my can?” Noshi asked. Erik nodded and picked up the plastic water container. Moving to the blanket door, he crouched, ready to strike when the opportunity presented its
elf.

  Outside on the scaffolding, three men climbed with the ease of spiders. They kicked people aside and snarled warnings at those who rose to oppose them. At the final walkway, they paused.

  “Erik!” the lead man called out. “We know you’re in there.”

  “Bucket, quit the noise,” Noshi scolded from inside.

  Bucket flinched. The pale girl was as thin as silk, strong as spider thread, and everyone knew she was a witch.

  “We got no scrap with you, Noshi,” Bucket said.

  “Well, come in then.”

  Bucket gestured at the man on his left, “Hek, go.”

  Hek tested the strength of the plank bridge. It creaked under his weight and he crossed it in three quick steps.

  At the other side, he turned and grinned at the two behind him, victory giving him courage.

  Erik burst out of Noshi’s tiny house and tackled Hek around the knees. They both crashed over the edge and dropped out of sight.

  “Fuck,” Bucket swore. “Bly, get after that little shit.”

  Bly leapt to obey, dropping from the walkway to a ledge below. Bucket leaned over and took a look. Far below, in the warm mist, he could see Hek’s body; broken and still, impaled on a jagged spar. Erik had vanished.

  When Calzon finished taking his anger out on Erik, Bucket would make sure whatever was left screamed for a long time.

  Turning back, he ducked inside the shelter. Noshi stood up, barely stooping under the low ceiling.

  “You come with me,” Bucket ordered.

  “Where would we go?” Noshi replied.

  “Calzon’s.”

  “I thought he preferred boys.”

  Bucket shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

  “I’ll not climb with you.”

  Bucket stepped forward and snatched at the girl. She moved with impossible speed. In one moment, she was under his hand; the next, she was letting the blanket door drop in her wake.