Murphy's Lawless: A Terran Republic Novel

by Charles E. Gannon

  * * * * *

  Chapter Five

  Near Spin One

  Waking up wasn’t as bad as Murphy had anticipated, probably because he had kept at the dataslate for almost fourteen straight hours, hammering away at the history he’d missed, the technology that had arisen. He had drilled the new reality so deep and hard into his consciousness that awakening to it was not accompanied by a shock, but a deep and gnawing sense of just how much more he had to catch up on.

  So, when Messrs. Nephew and Nuncle dropped in after breakfast, he was washed, fed, and marginally informed. And had enough of his wits about him to stand and ask, “Sirs, as I understand it, at least one of you is in the US armed forces, and I’m guessing that both of you rank me.” He started to raise his hand into a salute.

  Mr. Nuncle waved it down. “We’re a little less strict about that, now, Major.”

  “Regulations have become more, er, casual, sir?”

  “Not intentionally. However, when you are in space, you quite frequently need your hands to steady yourself. So, the protocol for salutes changed. We’ll send some guidelines, if you are interested.”

  “I am, sirs. I was also wondering if I could perhaps call you by your real names?”

  Nuncle found the same seat he’d occupied the prior day. “I would like that, Major, but I’m afraid that would not be wise. Not for us, and not for you. Please, sit down.”

  Murphy complied.

  “You are correct that we outrank you, but that is all we are going to say on the matter. Indeed, the limited amount of information we can convey will surely be a frustration to us both.”

  Murphy nodded. “I suspected that. Sir. When I tried to find information on the abductees—the Lost Soldiers—I ran into a solid wall of ‘access denied.’ In the rare event that I was able to open a file, the material that remained was barely equal to the amount that was redacted.”

  Mr. Nephew smiled crookedly. “That sounds about right.” His smile fell away. “We’re here to give you what information we can and also to answer the questions we’re allowed to.”

  “Very well. May I start?”

  “By all means.”

  “Who won’t allow you to answer all my questions?”

  Nephew grinned. “That would be us. Our circumstances and official status are, well, ambiguous.”

  “You mean, you’re renegades?”

  Nuncle scratched his head. “To be perfectly frank, we’re not really sure. For a number of reasons, we had to strike out on our own before we could make a full report. On several crucial matters.”

  “Sounds like you were one step ahead of the headsman,” Murphy said with a grin.

  “Could have gotten the axe,” Nuncle agreed. “Or could have gotten a medal. Or both. But probably in that unfortunate order. And since we are all quite fond of keeping our heads attached to our bodies, we decided that it would be prudent to show high personal initiative and undertake our current rescue operations.”

  “Wait. You’re trying to rescue someone, even though you’re on the run?”

  “Yes, that is correct. And unfortunately, that is all we may tell you.”

  “Why?”

  Nephew leaned forward, hands clasped. “Because if the enemy gets hold of you, you can’t reveal what you don’t know.”

  Murphy hoped he didn’t grow as suddenly pale as he felt he might. “Understood, sir. SOP. But, assuming the enemy are these Ktor, why would they care what I know?”

  “The Ktor, or their proxies, would be very interested just to learn that there are humans from Earth running around in their space.”

  Murphy swallowed. “We’re in their space? Right now?”

  Nuncle nodded. “Have been for some weeks. And we wouldn’t be here at all if there was any other way to effect the rescue. But now we have reached a crossroads, so to speak.”

  Murphy just nodded.

  Nuncle looked uncomfortable. “I cannot divulge the size of our unit, nor its full complement. However, suffice it to say that our carrying capacity—both in terms of lading and consumables—is heavily overtaxed. That is why we had to stop in this system: 55 Tauri. We detected signs of habitation and had no choice but to risk contact. We needed to refuel and take on comestibles.”

  Murphy glanced at Nephew. “But he said we’re in enemy space.”

  Nephew sighed and leaned back. “I did. We are. But the Ktorans are not unified. Hell, we didn’t realize just how ununified they are until we started moving through what they call the Scatters: where we are now.”

  “The Scatters?” Murphy echoed.

  “Yeah. A stretch of space they haven’t bothered to colonize. Or, to put it another way, that they decided was off limits because the competition it would have sparked among the older planets—or ‘Houses’—would probably have turned into a civilization-wrecking free-for-all. So out here, it’s just the descendants of their exiles.”

  “They have so many exiles that they leave a whole, uh, interstellar outback for them to flee to?”

  Nuncle nodded. “Sounds mad, doesn’t it? But that is the situation. The great powers of the Sphere have wars that escalate to the point where they are likely to get completely out of hand: nukes and planetary bombardments and the like. So, they have what you might call a pressure release valve. Any power that knows it will lose, and therefore has no reason not to employ maximum destructive force, is offered a choice: be exterminated or be exiled. Those who choose the latter—the Exodates—are allowed to flee into the Scatters, where they are ostensibly free to develop how and where they will, with two provisos: no FTL drives and no long-range radio comms.”

  “And if they ignore those restrictions?”

  “Then the Sphere allows the equivalent of young-Turk bounty hunters to visit retribution upon the violators. We have seen such planets, or rather, what is left of them.” Nuncle seemed to grow a little more pale than he usually was. “Not a pretty sight. Barely habitable, sometimes.”

  “And the person or persons you’re rescuing, they’re someplace in these, uh—these Scatters?”

  Nephew shrugged. “Might be. Might be further. That’s one of the reasons we have to travel lighter. Getting there faster means a better chance of getting there in time.”

  Murphy looked from one to the other. “Why do I get the feeling that the conversation is moving around to the part that concerns me? Personally.”

  Nuncle managed to smile and be crestfallen at the same time. “And that is just the kind of insight we knew you’d have, and why you are just the man for the mission that has to be undertaken.”

  Oh, shit. “I see.”

  It was as if they had both heard his silent “Oh, shit.” “Yes,” Nuncle said with a nod. “I’m afraid you are about to get the dirty end of the stick, Major. Here’s the situation:

  “We can’t abandon much of our equipment. We are too likely to need it for either fighting through to the rescue point or once we get there. The only thing we have too much of is, well, bodies in cold sleep. They take up space, draw power, and if we find ourselves in a situation where we needed to reanimate all of them, we’d be out of food within days.

  “We discovered that there are friendly communities in this companion system, all of whom live in space, on concealed habitats. They go into hiding whenever the malign forces from the main system put in their occasional but largely predictable appearance. We, however, were not aware of that when we intercepted their very subtle communications and announced ourselves.”

  Murphy grimaced. “Let me guess: by announcing yourselves to them, you also announced yourself to the malign forces from the main system.”

  Nephew nodded. “Yep. We blew their centuries-old cover in a single afternoon. So, we had to make it right. Which meant locating and taking out all the spaceside opposition and any ground-based communication sites the OpFor had for sending word back to the main system.”

  Murphy stared at him. “But that means their HQ back home has got to be realizing that its ta
sk force to this system has gone off the grid. Entirely. They’re gonna want to know what happened, and how.”

  Nuncle nodded vigorously. “Precisely. And that is where you—and others—come in.”

  Why am I not surprised? “Sir, I don’t mean to be uncooperative, but I’m not part of your formation.”

  Nephew’s expression was like he was pulling a long splinter out of his foot. “Actually, Major, you are. This came up when the awakened Lost Soldiers were exfilled from Turkh’saar. Technically, the missing were never mustered out of their different services. Besides, beyond fixing the problem we caused for the friendlies here in 55 Tauri B, there’s also this: we can’t take all of the Lost Soldiers with us. Not anymore. We’ve run the logistics. In fact, you know the person who cranked those numbers. Missy Katano.”

  Murphy started. “From Mogadishu? Yes, I knew her. Well, I knew of her. She was the grease that made the wheels turn in logistics. She was on the chopper. So, she made it?”

  “As we told you, only the crew chief and the copilot were lost. The rest of you were—salvaged—by the Ktor. And don’t ask me how. Not all their methods are a mystery, but in your case and a few others, we have no idea how they got people out of sinking wrecks before they drowned.” He shook his head. “Anyhow, we have to leave approximately one hundred of the Lost Soldiers behind, along with their gear and a small number of vehicles. Just enough for you to fulfill your first objectives.”

  The operational nitty-gritty was shit to hear, too, but at least this kind of shit was familiar to Murphy: new superiors setting impossible objectives. “And what is that first objective, sirs?”

  “Objectives, Major Murphy,” Nuncle stressed. “They must be pursued concurrently. Firstly, once you are landed on this system’s habitable planet, you must commandeer indigenous equipment. This is both because there is no certainty of resupply and because there must be a minimal Terran—er, Earth-force footprint. The only way to do that is to blend in with the locals: use their equipment, learn their languages, adopt their ways. Where practicable and ethical.”

  “And the other objective? Sir?”

  Nephew was sitting ramrod straight in his chair now. “As we said, we eliminated all the spaceside comm platforms that could reach back to the main system. And we took out the ground installations that we knew of which had a similar capability. But the OpFor still has units on the ground. Creating a long-range transmitter isn’t rocket science. It isn’t easy, but we can be sure that some of the OpFor knows how to do it and is taking the necessary steps.”

  Murphy rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And I’m supposed to locate and eliminate them with a hundred men, sirs?”

  Nuncle shook his head. “The spaceside locals have means of introducing you favorably to R’Bak’s locals, the ones that the opposition forces raid and then ‘cull’ when they arrive. You won’t lack allies.”

  Well, it was nice that at least one bit of good news had popped up. “Sirs, I’d like to go back a moment. You mentioned that there is ‘no certainty of resupply.’ Could you expand upon that, please?”

  Nuncle looked at Nephew, who sighed and rested his hands on his knees. “Major, it is our intent to come back this way. We’re confident you will succeed in your further objectives: to establish a secure operating base for yourselves and for us to retire to for resupply, should our rescue efforts prove to require multiple journeys beyond the Scatters.

  “Unfortunately, it is just as possible that we will not return. That we will run into the Ktor. Or their proxies. Or any one of a thousand different anomalies that are a death sentence when you are operating in uncharted space. So, yes, unfortunately, there is no guarantee of resupply. But I promise you this: we mean to come back and either evacuate you or reinforce your position.”

  “If any of us are still here and breathing,” Murphy added.

  Nephew just nodded. “That’s the op, Major.”

  Murphy didn’t feel like he might puke, but he certainly wanted to spit in disgust. “I understand, sir. Sounds like I have a lot to accomplish.”

  Nuncle got that hangdog look that always seemed to precede some dire addition from him. “You do indeed, Major. And I’m afraid there’s one further challenge of which you must be apprised.”

  Of course there is. “Yes, sir?”

  “Your men for this mission—the Lost Soldiers we’ve chosen—are not necessarily the most coherent force.”

  Great. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean by that, sir.”

  “Major, our rescue mission will be almost constantly in space. When traveling in that unforgiving environment, you need individuals who are team players, self-starters, and not easily distracted from their task. In short, in space or new exoplanetary environments, there are often crises that arise quickly and without warning. The soldiers best able to survive are the ones who are most dedicated to their profession, to their job.”

  Better still. “Sir, does this mean I’m getting a bunch of…of discipline cases?”

  “Not entirely, Major. Some have demonstrated phobias that would paralyze them in space—claustrophobia and agoraphobia are two such, despite being direct opposites. There are individuals who do not handle contact with alien life forms well. There are others who have expressed religious difficulties operating alongside intelligent beings that are not human. And yes, you are also drawing the con-artists, black marketeers, and barracks lawyers.”

  Total perfection. “Sounds like I’ll have to whip them into shape before they’ll be ready for duty. Sirs.”

  Nephew nodded. “True, but you won’t have to do it alone. The other survivors from the crash are going to be your cadre, minus Missy and Dr. Hampson. That gives you a number of excellent officers who are, variously, specialists who can oversee air, space, armor, even ground and spec ops.”

  It was a pretty narrow ray of hope—but a ray, nonetheless. “Any reason why all of us crash survivors are being selected?”

  “Three reasons, Major. First, since all of you were taken during one of the last abductions, you have the best understanding of truly modern warfare. You’re going to need that. Secondly, once again, being from the late 20th century, the abductors were able to get data on all of you, mostly from the civilian sector. Consequently, if we took you on the rescue mission and ran into the Ktor, any of you who were captured or unrecoverable could possibly be ID’d by them. And then the Ktor would have all the grounds they need for declaring war. Hell, they’d almost have to, given their own cultural standards and expectations. And third, all of you are among the very best at what you do.”

  “No insolence intended, sir, but how the heck do you know that?”

  Nephew smiled. “Like I said, the late-stage abductors were able to get various records pertaining to the people they grabbed. And with help from the exosapients you’d call ‘grays,’ we were finally able to access and decode the records on the Lost Soldiers. At least, those whose cryocells we still possess.” He leaned back. “We may be giving you a challenging bunch of troops, Major, but you are going to have an outstanding cadre with which to whip them into shape and get the job done.”

  Murphy discovered that his eyes were drifting to the floor. He didn’t want to say anything else, but he had to. They had to know. “Sirs, I am not sure my records were updated by the Ktor in time to reflect this, but…I was diagnosed with MS right before the chopper went down. Not quite twenty-four hours earlier. That’s the reason I was being shipped stateside, to confirm the diagnosis and take me off the line. So my condition could not endanger others.”

  Nuncle nodded soberly. “Yes, Major Murphy. We know. We also know that we do not exist in a perfect world. Neither you in terms of your personal health, nor us in terms of our operational imperatives. Under any other circumstances, we would have kept you in stasis until and unless we could access a cure.

  “But you may be interested to learn that the Blackhawk’s pilot, whom we awoke before you, conducted joint operations with the locals against the OpF
or. She gained their trust, made several friends among them. Through a few carefully tailored and coached questions, she was able to determine that neither the spaceside nor dirtside locals have any record of MS or its symptoms among their population. And those records go back almost two millennia.

  “This is particularly interesting in light of the fact that the habitable planet in this companion system—R’Bak—is an object of contention precisely because it is a source of various flora with powerful and highly unusual therapeutic properties.”

  “And you think one of those plants is going to prove to be a miracle cure for MS? That’s a pretty long shot, don’t you think, sir?”

  Nuncle nodded sadly. “I agree. On the other hand, it is, as you Yanks say, the only shot you’ve got. But that’s the compassionate side of the equation of putting you in charge. The practical side is that you are very early in the course of the disease and have an outstanding record, along with outstanding recommendations from your superiors and your subordinates, right down to scuttlebutt from E1s and E2s.” He stood, Nephew following a moment later.

  Murphy rose also. “One last thing, sirs. I understand what our mission is. But I don’t know why we are doing it, what’s at stake.”

  “That is part of what we need to keep close, Major.”

  Murphy cleared his throat. “Permission to speak freely, sirs.”

  Both nodded.

  “Listen, if you expect me to get people to keep fighting toward an objective, light years from a home they may never see again, I have to be able to tell them something. I have to be able to tell them why it matters. Otherwise, they are going to walk away thinking you’re just ditching them to lighten your load. That they are just garbage you’re off-loading and that you’re just shining us on with a bullshit mission, a fiction meant to convince us that we’re not just being left here to die. Which won’t work, sirs.”

  Nephew and Nuncle looked at each other. Nephew squared his shoulders as he turned toward Murphy again. “Okay. Then you can tell them this. The Ktor are derived from homo sapiens. They can pass unnoticed amongst us. They tricked other races into invading and almost conquering Earth. They want to take us over, to make us a part of their Sphere and grab our DNA to help boost their fading, overtaxed genelines.” He leaned forward slightly. “And you can add this, if you want. They killed my father, gutted my sister so that she’s on permanent life support, and have tried—or succeeded in—destroying almost everything else that I love. And they’ll do the same to you, to all the Lost Soldiers, and every good and beautiful thing you remember on planet Earth.” He leaned back and his voice became quiet again. “Is that cause enough, Major?”